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MEMOIR 


Mrs.   MARY  LUNDIE    DUNCAN 


RECOLLECTIONS    OF    A    DAUGHTER 


BY    HER   MOTHER. 


FROM  THE  SECOND  EDINBURGH  EDITION. 


N  E  W  .  Y  0  R  K  : 

ROBERT  CARTER,  58,  C  AN  AL- STREET. 

M  DCCC  XLII. 


No  tears  for  thee— though  our  lone  spirits  mourn 
That  thou  with  spring's  sweet  flowers  wilt  ne'er  return. 
No  tears  for  thee— though  hearth  and  home  are  blighted, 
Though  sadness  clouds  the  scenes  thy  love  has  lighted. 
No  tears — for,  while  with  us,  thy  soul,  opprest, 
Oft  longed  for  refuge  in  thy  Saviour's  breast. 
No  tears — for  thou  hast  found  thy  home  above. 
No  tears— thou'rt  sheltered  in  the  arms  of  love. 

J  C  L. 


I.  LDDWIQ,  PRIKTEB, 

72  Vesey-8t.,  N.  Y, 


PREFACE. 

This  little  Work  treats  of  the  initiatory  steps  of  an  im- 
mortal being — steps,  feeble  and  insignificant  if  viewed 
alone,  but  assuming  value  and  importance  when  considered 
as  terminating  in  an  eternal  destiny.  By  such  steps  is  each 
human  course  commenced — and  such  is  the  solemn  result 
involved  in  its  mortal  termination.  The  chief  benefit  de- 
rived from  Christian  biography,  is  its  exhibiting  to  the  eye, 
the  image  of  Christ  in  the  character  of  his  servant ;  the 
manner  in  vv^hich  that  blessed  image  first  began  to  be  form- 
ed— and  the  various  means  and  incidents  which  contribut- 
ed to  its  advancement  towards  perfection. 

Growth  is  the  only  sure  token  of  healthy  spiritual  life. 
The  soul  has  its  winter  and  its  spring  times,  its  seasons  of 
seeming  check  and  deadness,  and  its  seasons  of  shooting 
upward  from  the  earthly  toward  the  heavenly  character. 
A  faithful  WTiter  remarks,  that  « the  soul  may  suppose  itself 
acquainted  with  its  corruption  in  its  length  and  breadth, 
while,  perhaps,  it  has  only  moistened  its  lips  at  the  bitter 
cup,  and  may  subsequently  be  constrained  to  drink  much 
more  of  it.'  And  thus  it  is  that  the  Christian  must  travel 
the  same  path  more  than  once.  Soul  searchings  must  be 
renewed — repentings  require  to  be  repented  of.  Love  to 
the  Mighty  Deliverer,  who  has  performed  the  wonderful 
rescue,  may  at  first  be  ardent  and  grateful — afterwards,  it 
will  become  humble  and  intelligent,  with  the  increasing 
perception,  that  not  only  the  first  deciding  movement  from 
death  to  life,  but  each  particular  step  of  the  journey  through 
the  wilderness,  must  be  guided  and  upheld  by  Him  who 
bestows  the  temper  of  strangers  and  pilgrims,  and  who 


IV  PREFACE. 

keeps  his  people  by  his  own  power,  through  faith  unto 
salvation. 

The  experienced  reader  may  find  both  pleasure  and  im- 
provement, in  tracing  the  various  seasons  of  spiritual  growth 
in  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  Should  the  example  of  her 
early  piety  awaken  any  careless  spirits  to  inquire  why  they 
have  not  yet  set  out  to  seek  the  Lord,  or  should  her  evi- 
dent  advancement  in  the  divine  life,  and  her  greatly  bright- 
ening graces,  as  she  drew  near  to  its  most  unlooked-for 
consummation,  be  the  means  of  stirring  up  any  to  examine 
whether  their  souls  are  slumbering  in  the  frosts  of  winter, 
or  shooting  upward  in  the  breath  of  spring,  the  writer  will 
have  a  blessed  return  for  the  trial  endured  in  laying  more 
wide  a  wound  which  only  reunion  can  finally  close  ;  and, 
in  unlocking  those  fountains  of  tears,  which,  however, 
have  flowed,  during  the  compilation,  more  in  thankful  sub- 
mission  and  gratitude,  than  in  selfish  mourning.  It  be- 
comes her  to  own,  with  humble  praise,  the  refreshment  that 
her  own  soul  has  received,  by  means  of  researches  among 
those  remains,  a  small  portion  of  which  is  here  tremblingly 
presented.  To  the  chosen  friends  of  the  dear  departed 
one,  the  book  will  be  welcome,  for  the  love  of  herself,  and 
of  Him  whom  she  sought  and  followed,  while  amongst 
them.  To  strangers,  may  the  Holy  Spirit  make  it  welcome 
as  a  messenger  of  Peace  ! 

July  26,  1841, 


NOTE  TO  SECOND  EDITION. 

Amongst  the  various  remarks  relative  to  the  first  edition 
of  this  little  Work  made  by  friendly  critics,  some  have  been 
jealous  for  the  memory  of  the  departed,  when  they  observe 
the  very  measured  exhibition  which  is  permitted,  of  her 
personal  attractions.     Others,  with  a  more  exalted  percep- 
tion of  spiritual  beauties,  have  zealously  demanded  the  ex- 
punging   of   each    sentence    which    described   transient 
charms,   and  the  blandishments  to  which   they  subjected 
their  possessor.     To  these  last  the  author  was  most  willing 
to  listen,  on  the  ground  that  the  moral   elevation  of  the 
character  described  was  such  as  to  make  herself  hold  in 
light   estimation,   what   the   worldly-minded    deemed  her 
chief  excellencies.     Such  passages  have  accordingly  been  ' 
expunged.     Yet,   after   it   has   been    accomplished,  there 
arises  a  question  if  it  be  just  to  conceal  the  degree  of  temp- 
tation to  which  the  heart  was  exposed,  in  consequence  of 
the  thickly  strewn  attentions  and  flatteries,  not  of  friends 
only,  but  of  strangers.     Is  it  not  more  to  the  praise  of  His 
grace,  by  whom,  in  the  midst  of  snares,  she  was  preserved, 
to  admit  that  those  snares  were   many,  complicated,  and 
alluring  ?     It  will,  however,  be  more  in  keeping  with  the 
tone  of  the  character  to  leave  what  these  were  to  conjec- 
ture.    We  therefore  only  quote  in  the  Appendix  two  let- 
ters of  condolence  for  her  loss,  from  clergymen  who  had 
opportunity  of  comparison  with  their  own  daughters,  and 
therefore  may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  the  age  of  en- 
thusiastic admiration,  except  upon  strong   excitement.— 
1* 


^^  NOTE    TO    THE    SECOND    EDITION. 

They  pretty  fairly  represent  the  general  impression  made 
by  her  appearance  and  demeanour  * 

The  privilege  is  also  yielded  of  appending  a  sketch  of 
her  character,  drawn  by  the  discriminating  school-fellow  to 
whom  so  many  of  her  letters  are  addressed. f 

In  the  Appendix  will  be  found  several  poems,  not  imme- 
diately connected  with  the  incidents  of  her  life,  which,  as 
introduced  in  the  first  edition,  appeared  unnecessarily  to 
interrupt  the  narrative.  Some  additional  matter,  both  in 
prose  and  verse,  has  been  introduced. 

There  is  prefixed  to  this  edition  a  sweet  and  character- 
istic poem  by  Mrs.  Lydia  H.  Sigourney,  who  was  admired 
and  loved  by  the  subject  of  the  memoir  (though  personally 
unknown,)  and  whose  recent  visit  to  Britain,  added  the 
charm  of  feature  and  of  voice  to  that  acquaintance  which 
had  been  formed  by  thousands  with  her  mind,  through  the 
medium  of  her  works ;  and  perhaps  by  none  with  greater 
pleasure  than  that  parent  in  whose  bereavement  she  so 
kindly  sympathizes. 

April,  1842. 

*  Appendix,  No.  XXIV.  t  Appendix,  No.  XXV. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
STANZAS  WRITTEN  ON  READING  THE  MEMOIR  OF  MRS.  MARY  LUNDIE 

DUNCAN     --------9 


CHAPTER  I. 

DAYS  OF  CHILDHOOD  -  .  - 


11 


CHAPTER  II. 

SCHOOL  DAYS  --------        31 

CHAPTER  III. 

HER  FIRST  AFFLICTION        -------       43 

CHAPTER  IV. 

STUDIES   AND  OCCUPATIONS   IN   EDINBURGH  -  -  -  -        57 


CHAPTER  V. 

CORRESPONDENCE    AND  DIARY 


77 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CORRESPONDENCE    --------    103 

CHAPTER  VII. 

VENERABLE    CHRISTIAN — ^VISITS    TO    THE  POOR — REV.    JOHN    BROWN 

PATTERSON  -------     119 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

DISAPPOINTMENT,  AND   THE  MANNER  IN  WHICH  IT  WAS  BORNE  -    132 

CHAPTER  IX. 

SORROW  TURNED  INTO  THANKFULNESS  -----  148 


O  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

A  NEW  HOME  -  .  -  -  -  .  .  -     162 

CHAPTER  XI. 

PAROCHIAL  SOLICITUDES — MATERNAL   EMOTIONS  -  -  -    172 

CHAPTER  XII. 

GROWTH  IN  LOVE     .----.--    193 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE   MUSE  RECALLED — A  SON  GIVEN — TWO  BROTHERS  WITHDRAWN      208 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

POETIC   EFFUSIONS — SYMPATHY  WITH  AFFLICTION — MATERNAL  LOVE 

AND  ANXIETIES — INFANTINE  RHY3IES  -  -  -  -221 

CHAPTER  XV. 

SPIRITUAL  REFRESHMENT — DILIGENCE  IN  DUTY — LAST  SABBATH  IN 
god's  HOUSE — SICKNESS — SUFFERING — RELIEF  FROM  IT 
FOR  EVER  --......    232 

APPENDLS       .-.-.--..    247 


STANZAS 

WRITTEN  ON  READING  THE  MEMOIR  OF  MRS.  MARY  LUNDIE  DUNCAN. 

BY  MRS.  LYDIA  H.  SIGOURNEY. 


Sweet  bird  of  Scotia's  tuneful  clime, 

So  beautiful  and  dear, 
Whose  music  gush'd  as  genius  taught 
"With  heaven's  own  quenchless  spirit  fraught, 

I  list — thy  strain  to  hear. 

Bright  flower,  on  Kelso's  bosom  bom, 

When  spring  her  glories  shed. 
Where  Tweed  flows  on  in  silver  sheen, 
And  Tiviot  feeds  her  valleys  green, 
I  cannot  think  thee  dead. 

Fair  child — whose  rich  unfoldings  gave 

A  promise  rare  and  true. 
The  parents  proudest  thoughts  to  cheer. 
And  sooth  of  widow' d  wo  the  tear, — 

Why  hid'st  thou  from  our  view  ? 

Young  bride,  whose  wildest  thrill  of  hope 

Bowed  the  pure  brow  in  prayer, 
Whose  ardent  zeal,  and  saintly  grace. 
Did  make  the  manse  a  holy  place. 
We  search — thou  art  not  there. 


10 


STANZAS. 


Fond  mother,  they  who  taught  thy  joys 

To  sparkle  up  so  high, 
Thy  first-bom  and  her  brother  dear 
Catch  charms  from  every  fleeting  year  :- 
Where  is  thy  ghstcning  eye  ? 

Meek  Christian,  it  is  well  with  thee, 
That  where  thy  heart  so  long 
Was  garnered  up,  thy  home  should  be  ;— 
Thy  path  with  Him  who  made  thee  free  ;- 
Thy  lay — an  angel's  song. 

Hartford,  Comucticut,  Feb.  22,  1S42. 


MEMOIR 

O  F 

MRS.    MARY    LUNDIE    DUNCAN. 


CHAPTER    I. 

DAYS    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

To  those  faithful  friends,  whose  affection  has  longed  for 
a  life  of  Mary  Lundie,  it  can  occasion  neither  surprise 
nor  disappointment  that  this  attempt  furnishes  little  of  nar- 
rative, and  nothing  of  the  character  of  adventure.  It  seems 
an  easy  task  to  detail  the  events  which  fill  up  the  years  of 
a  patriot,  a  warrior,  a  philanthropist,  or  a  missionary.  Acts 
of  wisdom,  of  bravery,  or  of  self-denying  benevolence, 
strike  the  eye  in  succession,  and  fill  the  page  with  that 
which  awakens  the  zeal  or  admiration  of  the  reader.  But 
the  early  years  of  a  delicate  female,  whose  preference  was 
to  shrink  from  public  regard,  and  the  full  tide  of  whose 
powerful  and  devoted  heart  rose  to  the  flood  only  under 
the  influence  of  intellectual  and  tender  attractions,  furnish 
few  prominent  points,  and  give  the  means  rather  of  a  slen- 
der sketch,  than  of  a  filled-up  portrait. 

It  is  not  adventure  that  her  friends  desire  ;  they  already 
know  her  brief  story.  It  is  the  depths  of  her  piety  that 
they  would  fathom ;  it  is  the  steps  by  which  she  attained  to  it 
that  they  wish  to  trace.  But  here  the  difiiculty  is  greater 
still.  Who  is  informed  as  to  the  secret  growth  of  the 
heart  but  He  who  created  it  ?  Who  can  read  the  unseen 
process  of  renewing  the  will,  except  the  Spirit  who  hath 
kept  that  in  his  own  power  ?  Instruct  with  what  minute 
care  you  can, — observe  with  what  accuracy  you  may, — 
still  there  is  something  in  the  workings  of  the  mind  that 
eludes  the  ken  of  the  observer.  Our  God  hath  shown  us 
that  the  knowledge  and  the  formation  of  the  heart  are  his 
own  prerogatives.  The  mysterious  solitude  of  mind,  carry- 
ing on  its  operations  in  its  own  retired  cells,  and  only  per- 
mitting occasional  loopholes  to  the  observer,  by  means 
of  a  question,  a  smile,  or  a  sigh,  gives  weighty  evidence 
of  its  superiority  over  the  material  part ;  and  the  mother. 


12  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

-who  cherishes  and  caresses,  and  lifts  up  or  puts  down  her 
offspring  at  pleasure,  is  often  as  little  aware  of  the  internal 
processes,  as  the  mother  of  Jesus  could  be  w^hen  she  retired 
in  silence  from  the  holy  city  to  treasure  up  his  sayings, 
and  ponder  them  in  her  heart. 

Those,  who  have  not  been  accustomed  to  minute  obser- 
vation of  infancy,  may  smile  at  the  notion  of  feeling  re- 
spect for  a  babe  that  has  not  completed  its  first  twelve- 
month. Yet  a  volatile  youth,  who  was  accustomed  to  play 
idle  tricks  for  the  diversion  of  a  train  of  juvenile  relations, 
said  of  one  little  girl  of  the  group,  '  I  cannot  play  the  fool 
with  that  babe,  her  look  fills  me  with  respect.'  That  babe 
was  removed  while  still  in  infancy  ;  therefore  we  cannot 
test  the  fact  that  her  growing  years  confirmed  the  senti- 
ment ;  but  the  observation  is  brought  to  mind  in  recalling 
the  infancy  of  Mary  Lundie  ;  and  those  who  knew  her, 
know  that  youth  and  womanhood  in  her  served  but  to 
strengthen  that  sentiment.  It  is  true  she  was  the  first-born, 
and  perhaps,  on  that  account,  each  new  attainment  was 
marked  with  a  degree  of  admiring  wonder,  which  the  more 
experienced  might  fail  to  participate  ;  but  those,  who  were 
admitted  to  the  sanctuary  of  the  nursery,  may  remember 
how  often  her  benign  smiles  were  remarked,  and  how  a 
hood  used  to  be  thrown  around  her  infant  features,  to  ex- 
hibit a  striking  resemblance  to  a  portrait  of  Madame  De 
Guion.  The  resemblance  in  feature  was  probably  imagi- 
nary,— the  similarity  of  character  seemed,  to  one  deeply 
interested  observer  at  least,  to  run  parallel  in  each  stage 
of  its  development,  and  to  have  become  most  of  all  com- 
plete when  nearest  the  close.  Her  early  love  for  flow- 
ers,— her  delight,  even  in  the  first  years  of  childhood,  in 
a  sun-set  sky,  and  in  vernal  breezes  ;  the  poetry  and  music 
of  her  mind,  were  not  more  in  harmony  with  the  character 
of  that  elegant  and  amiable  woman,  than  her  strict  self- 
examinations,  her  severe  judgments  of  herself,  her  prayer- 
fulness,  and  her  pity  for  the  poor. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1814  that  this  cherished  child  first 
saw  the  light,  when  the  orchards  that  surround  the  manse 
of  Kelso,  were,  as  her  revered  and  tender  father  used  to 
say,  'a  blaze  of  blossoms.'  Mr.  Lundie's  usual  designa- 
tion of  her  was,  '  my  sweet  bud,  born  amongst  blossoms.' 
She  had  not  reached  her  second  year  without  discerning 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  13 

and  sympathizing  in  his  passion  for  flowers ;  and  the  cher- 
ished enjoyment  of  both  was,  that  her  tiny  hands  should 
furnish  the  primrose  which  was  to  shine  all  day  in  his  but- 
ton-hole. 

Those,  who  knew  and  loved  them  both,  will  forgive  the 
mention  of  a  slight  incident,  which  has  been  drawn  from  its 
long  retreat  in  the  cells  of  memory  by  recent  sorrow  : — 
The  infant  florist  had  been  attracted  by  a  rich  and  pearly 
hyacinth,  the  pride  of  the  parterre,  and,  unconscious  of  its 
value,  snapt  its  succulent  stem  with  all  her  little  force,  and 
tottered  to  her  father's  knee,  crying  out  with  lively  joy, 
'  Pretty  fower,  papa  ;  pretty  fower.'  The  mingling  of  re- 
gret that  the  splendours  of  such  a  favourite  were  cut  ofl"  in 
the  midst,  with  his  admiration  of  the  taste  and  energy  of 
the  achievement  of  the  little  spoiler,  and  sympathy  with 
her  joy  in  making  him  such  a  gift,  were  all  expressed  in 
turn  ;  and,  after  regrets  and  thanks,  he  resorted  to  the  plan 
•of  cutting  the  mangled  stem  and  placing  it  in  water,  where 
it  stood  for  many  days,  shedding  its  decaying  odours. 
Will  it  seem  unreasonable,  that,  after  a  lapse  of  more  than 
three  arid  twenty  years,  amid  the  howling  blast  of  a  sunless 
day  in  January,  leaning  against  a  couch  on  which  rested 
the  pale  and  cold  drapery  of  death,  one  survivor  should  sud- 
denly have  the  silver  tones  of  that  fair  child  recalled,  re- 
peating, '  Pretty  fower,  papa  ;'  and  feel  as  if  the  incident 
had  been  prophetic  of  her  own  early  fate  ? 

With  half  her  blossoms  expanded  to  the  extent  of  beauty 
and  fragrance,  another  portion  only  bursting  into  life,  and 
still  another  scarcely  formed  into  the  rudiment  of  buds, — 
there  lay  the  flower,  bruised  and  broken.  Whatever  of 
promise  rested  on  its  prolific  spike,  never  Avould  unfold  it- 
self in  this  nether  region  !  And  what  is  that  survivor  do- 
ing now,  but  faintly  endeavouring  to  preserve  its  dying 
fragrance,  that  it  may  be  shed  for  a  shortly  extended  period 
on  those  who  loved,  and  cherished,  and  admired  the 
flower. 

"  0  solitary  thought,  albeit  not  sad, 
Thy  vein  is  less  allied  to  joy  than  sorrow  ; 
Less  prophet,  than  remembrancer,  thy  scope 
Embraces  yesterday,  but  ne'er  to-morrow. 
Yet,  though  pale  memory  be  seldom  glad, 
A  truer  fonder  friend  is  she  than  hope." 
2 


14  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  cradle  and  the  grave  are  here 
brought  too  closely  together.  But,  for  how  brief  a  space, 
even  when  life  is  prolonged,  are  they  ever  severed  ?  How 
often  is  their  union  complete  ?  and  when  the  years  that  in- 
tervene, be  they  many  or  few,  have  been  used  to  ac- 
complish the  two  great  purposes  of  our  being, — to  glorify 
our  God  while  we  live,  and  to  enjoy  His  blessed  presence 
when  we  die, — we  need  not  shrink  from  combining  the 
day  of  our  birth  with  the  day  of  our  death.  Many  of  the 
letters  of  mourning  friends,  which  that  sad  month  of 
January  produced,  referred  to  scenes  and  sports  of  infancy 
and  childhood  ;  and  from  them  may  be  gleaned  reminiscen- 
ces which  may  escape  the  suspicion  of  undue  partiality. 

The  nurse,  whose  faithful  care  for  many  years  aided  in 
the  training  of  the  little  family,  wrote,  on  hearing  of  Mary's 
death,  '  When  I  think  of  all  her  goodness,  when  quite  a 
child,  it  is  the  greatest  comfort  to  me.  How  very  exact 
she  was  in  her  prayers  when  only  a  babe  !  She  was  as 
soon  at  her  Lord's  w^ork  as  any  of  the  worthies  that  ever  I 
read  of;  and  I  often  fancy  I  see  their  pretty  white  heads 
kneeling  before  they  went  to  bed, — the  one  that  could  not 
speak  following  the  example  of  the  others.'  The  same 
truthful  chronicler  has  since  recalled  an  incident,  which 
occurred  about  Mary's  fourth  year.  Her  little  brother  had 
struck  her  on  the  cheek  in  a  fit  of  anger.  She  instantly 
turned  the  other  cheek,  and  said  mildly,  '  There,  Corie.' 
The  uplifted  hand  was  dropt ;  and  when  the  child  was 
asked  who  taught  her  to  do  that,  she  replied,  that  she  heard 
papa  read  it  one  morning  out  of  the  Bible  at  prayer  time. 
This  is  not  only  an  evidence  that  this  child  early  gave  her 
understanding  to  what  was  read  to  her,  but  a  hint  to  all 
parents  that  it  is  not  a  matter  of  no  moment  whether  very 
young  children  are  made  to  be  present  at  domestic  duties  ; 
for  not  only  is  the  habit  acquired  of  waiting  on  God  in  the 
Avay  he  has  appointed,  but  the  mind,  in  the  midst  of  its 
flickering  attention,  gleans  some  precious  things,  which 
are  stored  up  amongst  its  treasures. 

Her  reflective  habit  was  evinced  by  her  self-admonition, 
when  any  accident  befel  her.  If  she  dropt  any  thing,  or 
fell  herself  when  running,  she  used  not  to  cry,  but  to  say, 
*  Now  /  see  !'  in  imitation  of  nurse,  who  used  to  say,  '  Now 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  15 

you  see,'  when  the  neglect  of  her  warnings  was  productive 
of  mischief.  The  manner  of  the  little  reflector  was  so  un- 
usual, so  grave,  and  yet  so  comic,  that  '  now  I  see,'  be- 
came the  by-word  of  the  house. 

She  learned  to  read  so  quickly,  that  her  mode  of  mak- 
ing the  acquisition  was  scarcely  discerned  by  her  teacher  ; 
so  that  long  before  she  was  five  years  old,  she  could  be 
quite  absorbed  in  the  delights  of  '  George  and  his  Penny,' 
or  '  The  Raven  and  the  Dove  ;'  and  it  was  not  till  the  more 
tedious  and  difficult  process  of  teaching  her  brother  was 
encountered,  that  the  fact  was  ascertained  of  her  having  ex- 
hibited unusual  rapidity  in  mastering  the  art. 

Her  imagination,  naturally  lively  and  poetical,  would 
easily  have  imbibed  a  deep  tinge  of  romance  ;  and  thus  it 
became  important  to  guide  her  early  avidity  for  books  of  all 
descriptions,  so  as  to  protect  her  mind  from  the  inflammatory 
influence  of  works  of  unprincipled  fiction.  This  was  not 
difficult,  in  circumtances  where  any  injurious  book  was 
easily  excluded  ;  but  not  quite  so  easy  was  it  to  deprive 
indulgent  friends  of  the  delight  of  pouring  into  her  willing 
ears  the  tales  she  was  most  glad  to  listen  to.  The  effect 
of  these  on  her  early  childhood  was  visible  instantly,  so 
that  a  story  of  a  good  little  girl,  whose  goodness  seemed  to 
consist  in  her  glossy  curls,  her  snow-white  frock  and  blue 
sash,  or  in  her  leading  a  pet  lamb,  with  a  wreath  of  daisies 
round  its  head,  would  for  days  together  confuse  her  ideas 
of  what  good  and  evil  consist  in. 

Her  fancy  kindled  at  the  description  of  a  May-pole  ;  and 
to  this  may  be  traced  the  style  of  sports  adopted  at  her 
suggestion  by  a  group  of  play  fellows,  some  of  whom  are 
now  dispersed  over  the  world  ;  but,  with  the  exception  of 
herself  and  her  sister,  none  of  whom  as  yet  have  been  called 
to  leave  it.  A  letter  from  her  father  describes  her  bring- 
ing in  her  little  brother  and  sister  to  the  breakfast  table, 
wreathed  round  and  round  with  Howers  of  her  weaving, 
and  called  by  her,  '  ivygods,'  in  honour  of  the  jubilee  of  the 
expected  return  of  their  mother,  after  a  brief  absence. 
In  the  midst  of  her  joyful  preparations,  a  letter  was  brought, 
stating  that  the  return  was  delayed,  when,  instead  of  griev- 
ino  or  losinsr  temper  at  her  disappointment,  she  instantly 
addressed  herself  to  console  and  amuse  the  Uttle  ones  with 


16  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

her  usual  sweetness.  Another  letter  describes  '  Mary  as 
melted  with  a  story  about  the  sorrows  of  life,  and  quite  up 
in  the  air,  and  full  of  poetry  and  sentiment,  about  May-day 
gambols.'  The  date  of  this  letter  being  February,  1821, 
she  was  not  then  seven  years  of  age. 

These  exhibitions  of  her  early  excitability  are  not  named 
to  prove  precocity  of  talent.  Perhaps  many  girls  are  more 
advanced  than  she  was.  The  object  is  rather  to  afford  an 
opportunity  of  showing  the  measures  adopted  to  prevent 
her  imagination  from  outgrowing  and  injuring  her  other 
mental  powers.  This  was  done,  not  by  forcing  didactic 
lectures  on  her,  which  would  have  wearied  without  in- 
structing, or  more  likely  have  let  her  attention  loose  from 
her  lesson,  to  wander  over  the  very  regions  from  which  it 
was  desirable  she  should  be  withdrawn ;  but  by  giving  her 
histories  from  real  life,  scripture  and  others,  within  her 
comprehension,  such  as,  '  The  True  Story  Book,'  which  is 
the  delight  of  unsophisticated  children,  and  by  talking  to 
her  always,  from  infancy,  as  if  she  were  a  reasonable 
being.  If  she  had  imagination  enough  to  enkindle  her 
sympathies  on  the  side  of  the  modest  young  lady,  of  whom 
she  was  told  by  a  tale-telling  friend,  that  she  went  to  the 
ball  in  simple  white  with  a  lily  in  her  hair,  when  all  the 
rest  were  sparkling  in  diamonds,  &c.  &c.,  she  had  also 
good  sense  enough  to  perceive,  when  it  was  pointed  out 
to  her,  that  the  'simple  white  and  the  lily'  were  not  points 
of  radical  difference,  and  that  if  the  occupation  and  mind 
were  equally  vain,  it  mattered  little  v/hether  the  parties 
were  decked  in  stones  or  in  flowers. 

The  Sabbath  evening  occupations  are  still  remembered 
whh  sweet  satisfaction  by  such  of  the  now  far  dispersed 
little  company  as  are  alive,  and  remain ; — and,  perhaps,  to 
describe  them  may  not  be  without  its  use.  After  reciting 
the  questions  which  had  been  acquired  before  morning 
hours  of  public  worship,  Watts'  infant  catechism  being  the 
first,  the  children  repeated,  in  turn,  what  verse  of  a  hymn 
they  could,  and  all  sung  it  together ;  and  still  the  dying 
cadences  of  those  young,  but  well-timed  voices,  hang  on 
memory's  ear,  and  still  the  happy  countenance  of  that  one 
whose  privilege  it  was  to  select  the  hymn  is  seen  by  the 
mind's   eye.     Then,  in  turn,  they  repeated  any  text  they 


MARY      LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  17 

knew,  and  questioned  each  other  on  its  meaning,  as  had 
been  done  to  them  when  first  they  learned  it ;  and,  when 
all  this  was  accomplished,  they  considered  themselves  en- 
titled  to  ask  for  a  '  Sunday  story.'  After  being  indulged  in 
this,  the  story  formed  subject  of  inquiry  and  discussion,  and 
Scripture  proof  wherein  the  actors  in  the  story  did  wrong 
or  right.  The  stories  were  not  from  scripture  history  gen- 
erally, but  anecdotes  picked  up  every  where.  All  this  hav- 
ing taken  place  before  the  system  of  infant  school  teaching 
was  introduced,  seemed,  to  some,  impracticable  in  a  com- 
pany of  babes  ;  but  experience  justified  the  plan,  and  suffi- 
cient evidence  is  now  happily  furnished  in  every  town,  that 
the  infant  mind  is  capable  of  acquiring,  retaining,  and  ap- 
plying  a  great  variety  of  knowledge.  Already  did  little 
Mary  begin  to  exercise  an  influence  in  her  circle,  for,  if 
the  leader  of  the  band  was  withdrawn  for  a  time,  she  was 
always  found  repeating  an  old  '  Sunday  story'  that  she  re- 
membered, or  inducing  the  rest  to  sing,  or  say  their  texts 
to  her.  These  exercises,  in  some  part  of  which  prayer 
was  introduced,  would  occupy  us  all  for  two  hours,  without 
a  shade  of  weariness,  and  seem  to  dispel  the  difficulty 
which  many  pious  parents  express  of  keeping  their  chil- 
dren suitably  employed  on  the  Lord's  day.  They  were  not 
kept  from  weariness  by  allowing  them  to  return  to  the 
nursery  to  their  toys,  for  a  regular  occupation  of  Saturday 
night  was  to  put  all  these  away,  and  except  a  picture  Bi- 
ble, they  had  not,  or  ever  sought  for,  a  Sabbath  amusement. 

A  friend,  whose  untiring  interest  in  the  progress  of  the 
little  family  was  the  occasion  of  her  being  made  the  reci- 
pient of  many  a  written  anecdote,  has  furnished  the  follow- 
ing, which  are  introduced  as  specimens  of  very  early  at- 
tention to  what  was  read,  and  of  healthful  exercise  of  the 
thinking  powers  : — The  history  of  Elymas  the  sorcerer, 
was  read  to  them, — Cornelius,  with  his  bold,  decided  judg- 
ment, exclaimed,  '  Blind  !  I  would  have  struck  him  dumb 
for  speaking  against  the  gospel.'  Mary,  perhaps  afraid  of 
the  freedom  of  the  criticism,  replied,  '  Oh,  no,  Corie,  blind- 
ing him  was  best,  for  he  might  repent,  and  then  you  know 
he  could  speak/or  the  gospel.' 

On  another  occasion,  Corie,  not  feeling  well,  was  resting 
ou  the  rug,  and  rather  fretful.  He  was  told  that  he  ought 
2* 


18  M  E  M  0  I  R      O  F 

not  to  complain,  as  he  must  learn,  in  whatsoever  state  he 
was,  to  be  therewith  contented.  His  sister,  who,  seated  on 
a  stool,  was  trying  to  use  a  needle  and  thread,  looking  up 
considerately,  put  the  puzzling  query,  '  Mamma,  would  you 
be  contented  if  your  head  was  in  the  mouth  of  a  lion  1 ' 
While  pondering  what  reply  would  be  most  suitable,  the 
dilemma  was  removed  by  the  little  boy  rearing  from  his 
listlessness,  and  saying,  '  O  yes,  she  w^ould  ;  for  you  know 
the  lion  could  not  eat  her  soul.' 

Inexperienced  instructors  are  accused  of  being  unneces- 
sarily strict  disciplinarians,  and  there  is  much  weight  in 
the  French  maxim,  ^pas  trop  gouverner.^  To  cast  occu- 
pations in  the  way  of  children,  and  leave  them  to  pursue 
their  natural  taste  in  selection  ;  to  guide  and  restrain,  but 
not  to  dictate  in  matters  of  amusement,  leaves  more  play  to 
the  taste  and  genius,  and  generally  gives  more  zest  to  en- 
joyment. 

This  firsthng  of  the  flock  required  teaching,  as  she  had 
no  example  of  older  children  ;  but  so  ductile  was  her  mind, 
and  so  flexible  her  disposition,  and  so  miserable  was  she 
at  the  idea  of  having  done  wrong,  that  she  required  less 
restraining  than  most  children  ;  and  the  experience  of  later 
years  seems  to  point  out,  that  she  might  have  been  disci- 
plined through  all  her  childhood,  without  the  use  of  punish- 
ment at  all.  On  one  occasion,  when,  for  some  little  fault, 
she  was  put  behind  the  sofa,  under  sentence  of  remaining 
there  for  ten  minutes,  her  anguish  and  her  tears  were  mis- 
taken for  a  fit  of  passion  in  their  bitterness  ;  and  she  was 
told  that  if  she  did  not  command  herself  and  be  quiet,  she 
should  remain  there  double  the  time.  She  still  stretched 
her  little  arms  and  sobbed  out,  *  Forgive  me  !  O  forgive 
me  ! '  and  when  asked  how  she  could  expect  to  be  forgiven 
while  she  cried  and  wanted  to  come  out,  she  at  last  was 
able  to  explain,  that,  were  she  but  forgiven,  she  would  stay 
there  quietly  all  day  if  she  was  told.  This  is  a  sample  of 
her  general  disposition ;  the  idea  of  having  ofl^ended  her 
parents,  and,  above  ail,  of  having  sinned  against  God,  in- 
flicted from  earliest  childhood,  the  keenest  misery  on  her 
sensitive  mind.  Though  her  tears  flowed  so  readily  on 
subjects  that  wounded  feeling,  she  could  endure  a  consider- 
able amount  of  bodily  pain  without   complaint.     On  one 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  19 

occasion  while  being  chased  round  the  room  by  an  orphan 
girl,  who,  for  a  time,  found  a  home  in  the  manse,  Mary  fell 
against  the  corner  of  a  brass  nailed  chair,  and  had  a  long 
gash  made  in  her  plump  cheek.  The  stream  of  blood 
which  quickly  stained  her  clothes,  the  tears  of  the  poor  girl 
who  caused  the  mischief,  and  the  anxious  countenances  of 
all  the  circle,  in  addition  to  her  own  suffering,  drew  no 
tears  from  her.  The  friendly  old  family  surgeon  finished 
his  task  of  clasping  the  wound,  by  saying, '  There,  my  little 
lass,  I  hope  that  will  heal,  without  marring  your  beauty.' 
The  child  replied,  with  her  native  politeness,  *  Thank  you, 
sir,'  and  then,  turning  to  nurse,  on  whose  knee  she  Avas 
held,  she  said,  in  a  confidential  sotto  voce.,  '  That  is  a  cebber 
(clever)  doctor.' 

Though  thus  hardy  in  her  own  powers  of  endurance,  she 
was  tender  to  all  living  things.  A  loved  relative  and  occa- 
sional companion  from  her  earliest  years,  says,  *  one  of  the 
first  remembrances  I  have  of  her,  was  her  gently  rebuking 
me  (with  no  intention  to  rebuke,  but  with  an  evident  sur- 
prise,) for  killing  a  spider,  instead  of  putting  it  out  of  the 
window.' 

Outward  observers  could  not  tell  the  time  when  Mary 
did  not  ai:)pear  to  be  under  a  gracious  influence.  But  in 
her  thirteenth  year, — when  in  preparation  for  uniting  in  the 
sacred  communion  services,  she  conversed  with  her  pa- 
rents, and  was  led  to  reveal  more  of  her  inward  views  than 
was  usual  with  her, — she  herself  stated,  that  the  first  time 
she  remembered  to  have  felt  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  moving 
her  to  anxiety  about  her  soul,  and  to  prayer,  was  in  her 
seventh  year,  on  her  recovery  from  a  severe  fever. 

Her  constitution  seemed  to  be  constructed  with  a  fever- 
ish tendency  ;  for  several  times,  at  intervals  of  years,  she 
had  serious  attacks  of  fever  :  and  in  this,  her  first  visit  of 
that  disease,  she  seemed  as  near  the  brink  of  the  grave  as 
she  ever  seemed  in  her  last,  till  within  a  brief  period  of  her 
spirit's  being  set  free.  Days  and  nights  of  watching  were 
passed,  when  her  faculties  were  shut  up  from  those  around 
her.  She  did  not  speak,  and  saw  very  imperfectly  ;  she 
could  not  swallow,  "and  was  conjectured  not  to  hear.  Yet, 
when  her  strength  came  again,  she  mentioned  that  she 
heard,  and  sometimes  was  able  to   give  her  attention  to 


20  '  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

what  was  said, — that  whispering  in  the  room  disturbed  and 
irritated  her  more  than  speaking  in  the  natural  voice, — that 
she  often  was  comforted  by  the  prayers  which  were  offered 
by  her  bed,  and  she  was  glad  if  a  hymn  or  text  were  re- 
peated, and  grieved  that  she  could  make  no  sign  to  indi- 
cate that  she  M^ished  for  more.  Amongst  other  things 
which  reached  her  watchful  mind,  she  named  her  gladness 
when  she  understood  that  a  dear  Christian  brother,  who 
preached,  was  to  pray  for  her  in  church.  She  also  under- 
stood a  conference  between  her  medical  attendants,  who 
discussed  by  her  bed  the  improbability  of  her  surviving  the 
night,  and  (lookers  on  might  well  have  been  surprised,  had 
they  known  the  effect  of  this  medical  opinion,)  felt  in  her- 
self that  they  were  mistaken,  for  she  was  not  dying ! 
From  these  circumstances,  lessons  may  be  drawn  by  those 
who  are  about  the  sick  ;  not  that  they  are  new,  for  they 
have  been  urged  and  laid  down  many  a  time  in  medical 
books,  but  in  most  cases  they  are  not  practised.  First,  that 
whispering  excites  nervous  irritation  and  suspicion  in  the 
patient.  Second,  that  the  sick,  whether  they  seem  to  hear 
or  to  have  perfect  command  of  their  intellectual  powers  or 
not,  ought  invariably  to  be  dealt  with  as  if  they  had,  in  all 
that  is  said  within  their  hearing.  And,  third,  that  words  of 
comfort  and  instruction,  such  words  as  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  has  furnished  us  with,  ought  still  to  be  poured  into 
ears  which,  for  aught  we  know,  are  not  unconscious,  and 
that  prayer  ought  to  be  made  not  only  for,  but  with  them. 

After  many  days  of  keen  suffering,  and  of  intellectual  se- 
elusion,  the  little  patient  was  revived,  and  the  more  hope- 
ful task  was  vouchsafed  to  her  nurses,  to  strengthen  and 
raise  her  up  again.  She  very  soon  asked  to  be  read  to, 
and  would  have  listened  more  than  her  feebleness  rendered 
it  safe  to  allow  ;  and  weak  though  her  eyes  were,  she  used 
herself  to  read  with  avidity  a  book  consisting  of  medita- 
tions and  hymns  adapted  to  the  capacity  of  childhood,  and 
exhibiting  the  '  Good  Shepherd,'  in  terms  somewhat  suited 
to  his  gracious  office  and  tender  care.  She  would  not  trust 
any  one  to  remove  this  favourite  little  book  out  of  her  reach, 
but  hid  it  under  her  pillow,  when,  from  fatigue,  she  could 
read  no  more.  At  this  time,  she  said  nothing  to  her  friends 
about  her  serious  impressions,  warmly  as  her  heart  went 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  21 

out  to  them ;  but  her  love  for  religious  converse,  and  her 
own  personal  share  in  what  she  had  opportunity  to  listen 
to  of  the  experience  of  her  seniors,  might  be  conjectured 
from  the  frequent  tears,  and  the  expression  of  tender  anx- 
iety in  her  wan  but  sweet  countenance. 

After  being  restored  to  health,  her  solicitude  about  the 
conduct  and  condition  of  the  junior  members  of  her  family 
was  more  actively  exhibited  ;  and  her  brother,  who  was 
not  much  younger  than  herself,  betrayed  his  consciousness 
of  a  restraining  influence,  which  was  probably  not  always 
welcome  to  his  bolder  spirit,  by  calling  her  'the  magistrate.' 
The  term  is  not  indicative  of  any  thing  overbearing  and 
unseemly  on  her  part,  but  of  guidance  and  restraint.  And 
well  does  it  become  the  parent,  who  felt  her  worth  as  in- 
fluencing the  whole  circle  for  good,  to  acknowledge,  in 
adoring  gratitude,  the  bounty  of  Him  who  bestowed  so  gra- 
cious a  child.  In  a  letter  addressed  to  a  bosom  friend, 
when  Mary  was  still  but  in  her  eighth  year,  this  expression 
of  grateful  acknowledgment  is  given,  and  will  at  least  prove 
that  the  admiration  is  no  after-thought,  but  was  parallel 
with  her  days  as  they  passed  : — 

'  Mary  and  Corie  are  very  busy  with  their  teacher. 
Mary  improves  in  industry,  understanding,  afl'ection,  and 
duty  every  day.  I  sometimes  wonder  how  she  ever  was 
given  to  us  ;  and  sometimes  wonder  too  (for  conscience 
does  not  allow  me  to  enjoy  such  an  undeserved  blessing  in 
peace,)  if  she  is  to  be  taken  soon  home,  or  if  she  is  to  be 
the  kind  eldest  daughter  of  a  motherless  family.' 

From  about  this  time,  when  the  business  of  instruction 
was  set  about  in  earnest,  the  services  of  a  tutor  were  en- 
gaged, and  the  education  of  the  family,  conducted  without 
distinction  of  sex,  in  the  subjects  to  which  their  minds 
were  applied  ;  and  Mary,  as  the  elder,  led  the  van  in  every 
lesson.  By  and  by  she  was  permitted  daily  to  pass  an 
hour  or  two  with  two  Christian  friends  at  her  needle,  in 
addition  to  her  other  lessons,  and  to  them  she  occasionally 
betrayed  more  of  the  working  of  her  heart  than  she  could 
do  to  her  parents.  For  example,  she  asked  why  it  was 
that  when  she  had  an  earnest  desire  to  pray,  and  went  to 
her  knees,  she  could  not.  The  child  seemed  distressed 
about  it,  and  felt  it  a  burden. 


22  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

She  benefited  much  by  the  converse  of  these  fahhful 
friends,  and  remembered  them  with  grateful  sympathy 
during  the  rest  of  her  life.  They  had  occasion  to  remark 
her  sensitive  nature  under  rebuke,  and  her  concern  when 
she  had  fallen  into  error.  Sometimes,  when  she  went  to 
them,  she  would  say,  '  I  felt  very  stupid  at  lessons  to-day, 
and  mamma  was  not  pleased  with  me  ;'  and  the  tear  in  her 
eye  evinced  her  uneasiness.  On  the  arrival  of  a  relation 
of  theirs  from  a  distance,  a  girl  of  nearly  her  own  age,  she 
embraced  the  opportunity  of  their  frequent  intercourse,  to 
seek  to  influence  her  for  the  good  of  her  soul ;  and,  when 
alone,  would  pray  with  her.  With  her  own  brothers  and 
sisters,  as  they  advanced  in  numbers  and  in  understanding, 
she  delighted  to  engage  in  the  same  sacred  exercise  ;  and, 
however  her  affections  might  be  extended  to  other  compan- 
ions, she  seemed  to  feel  an  absence  of  perfect  cordiality  if 
she  did  not  meet  in  them  sympathy  in  spiritual  things. 

Her  delicate  musical  ear,  and  sweet  voice,  were  soon 
engaged  in  singing  with  the  spirit  and  understanding  ;  and 
so  contemplative  was  her  nature,  that  the  liveliest  joys  of 
childhood  would  have  been  forsaken  at  any  time  for  a  lone- 
ly walk  on  the  ever-lovely  banks  of  her  admired  Tweed,  or 
for  a  few  minutes  of  pious  converse  or  singing  with  an 
older  friend. 

It  is  not  easy  to  say  at  what  date  her  relish  for  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  was  enhanced,  by  looking  beyond  them  to 
the  power  and  munificence  of  the  God  of  creation,  com- 
bined with  the  compassion  and  love  of  the  God  of  redemp- 
tion. Her  early  attempts  at  noting  with  her  pen  the 
thoughts  of  her  heart,  exhibit  the  play  of  poetic  imagery 
and  sentiment,  together  with  efforts  at  reflection  and  sober 
views  of  existence  beyond  this  world. 

The  following  verses  have  been  recently  found  in  a  box 
of  juvenile  keep-sakes,  and  similar  treasures.  Judging  by 
the  writing,  they  may  be  referred  to  her  eleventh  or  twelfth 
year  :— 

•  How  sweet  are  those  delightful  dreams, 
That  charm  in  youth's  first  days  of  bloom  ! 

And  sweet  those  radiant  sunshine  gleams, 
That  wander  through  surrounding  gloom. 


MARY      LTNDIE      DUNCAN.  23 

And  bright  are  fancy's  fairy  bowers, 

And  sweet  the  flowers  that  round  she  flings  ; 

When  in  gay  youth's  romantic  hours 
She  shows  all  fair  and  lovely  things. 

But  ah  !  there  is  a  land  above, 

Whose  pleasures  never  fade  away  ; 
A  holy  land  of  bliss  and  love, 

Where  night  is  lost  in  endless  day. 

And  in  the  blaze  of  that  blest  day. 

All  earthly  bowers  we  deemed  so  bright, 

Must  fade,  as  when  the  sun's  first  ray 
Dispels  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

Why  should  my  soul  so  fondly  cling 

To  joys  that  bless  my  pilgrimage  1 
The  joys  of  heaven  I  ought  to  sing, 

Its  raptures  all  my  love  engage. 

Why  should  my  spirit  fear  to  die  1 

What  though  the  river  may  be  deepi 
When  past,  I  never  more  shall  sigh  ; 

My  eyes  shall  then  forget  to  weep. 

0  !   for  faith's  bright  and  eagle  eye, 

To  pierce  beyond  this  vale  of  tears, 
To  regions  blest  above  the  sky. 

To  worlds  unknown  by  lapse  of  years. 

Then  should  the  toys  that  tempt  me  now, 

From  my  enraptured  bosom  fly  ; 
In  faith  and  grace  my  soul  should  grow, 

Till  death  be  lost  in  victory,' 

The  following  outpouring  of  a  refined  spirit,  panting  after 
earthly  enjoyments  of  an  ethereal  character,  she  has  en- 
titled 

'  IMAGINATIONS. 

'  I've  imaged  a  land  where  flowers  are  growing 

In  pristine  sweetness  all  the  year, 
And  purest  crystal  streams  are  flowing, 

And  sunbeams  kiss  the  waters  clear. 

Where  music's  voice,  the  hours  beguiling, 

Comes  floating  on  the  summer  air  ; 
Where  beaming  suns  are  mildly  smiling, 

And  cloudless  skies  are  ever  fair.  ■ 


24  MEMOIROF 

But  darkness  here  the  daylight  closes, 

And  storms  obscure  the  sunlit  sky  ; 
And  thorns  are  mingled  with  our  roses  ; 

While  joy  is  round  us,  grief  is  nigh. 

0 !  were  I  in  that  land  of  gladness 

I've  imaged  fair  within  my  breast, 
Then  farewell  to  grief  and  sadness, 

Welcome  soul-refreshing  rest. 

Within  the  leafy  grot  reclining, 

WTiile  balmy  breezes  round  me  played, 
I'd  gaze  on  scenes  all  brightly  shining, 

With  nought  to  make  my  heart  afraid. 

My  heart  should  rise,  with  nature  blending  ; 

In  one  sweet  song  of  harmony ; 
Each  lovely  object  round  me  tending 

To  make  my  soul  all  melody.' 

The  very  severe  and  protracted  indisposition  of  a  sister 
three  years  younger  than  herself,  which  deprived  the  family, 
for  many  months,  of  all  maternal  superintendence,  extended 
a  double  gloom  over  the  house  of  mourning.  The  children 
were  all  suffering  from  hooping-cough  at  the  time  that  her 
sister  was  first  deprived  of  the  use  of  her  limbs,  and  then, 
for  some  months,  of  sight,  by  inflammation  in  the  brain  and 
spine.  Poor  Mary  faded,  and  lost  appetite  day  by  day  ; 
and,  at  the  hour  of  the  medical  visit,  when  the  dear  suf- 
ferer's eyes  were  bandaged,  that  the  light  of  a  candle  might 
be  introduced  to  the  chamber,  which  at  all  other  times  was 
in  a  state  of  midnight  darkness,  it  was  mournful  to  remark, 
as  the  little  group  crowded  around  that  bed  of  anguish,  that 
Mary's  cheek  was  pale  and  her  eye  dim  ;  and  while  the 
younger  sought  to  say  something  cheering  to  the  dear 
sufferer,  she  could  only  shrink  behind  the  curtain  to  shroud 
her  tears.  It  was,  therefore,  found  necessary  to  send  her 
away  from  the  scene  ;  and  she  was  indebted  for  a  home 
to  sympathizing  and  intelligent  relatives,  who  cheered  her, 
without  leading  her  to  forget  those  in  whose  distresses  it 
became  her  to  partake. 

The  house-keeper  in  that  family  lately  expressed,  with 
tears,  her  loving  remembrance  of  the  little  guest ;  and  said, 
that  a  girl  of  her  own  age,  who  had  been  invited  as  her 
companion,  remarked  to  her,  '  Mary,  you  always  pray  out 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  25 

of  your  own  mind ;  but  I  say  the  prayers  my  mamma  has 
taught  me.'  She  replied,  '  Anna,  if  I  were  to  do  that,  how 
could  I  ask  for  what  I  need  from  God  V  This  little  circum- 
stance gives  evidence  that  prayer  was  with  her  experienced 
to  be  real  intercourse  with  her  Father  in  heaven. 

No  juvenile  letters  appear  connected  with  that  period, 
when  the  rod  of  the  holy  God  was  laid  so  sharply  on  her 
house  ;  but  the  impression  left  on  the  bereaved  circle, 
when  it  was  removed,  and  the  redoubled  zeal  and  sweet- 
ness of  Mary  in  regard  to  divine  things,  were  conspicu- 
ous. Her  return  to  the  Sabbath-school,  in  her  mourning 
garb,  and  re-occupying  her  place,  with  a  solemn  view  of  her 
responsibility  for  the  use  of  each  Sabbath,  while  the  place 
of  her  dear  sister  was  filled  by  another,  was  observed  to 
be  with  her  a  time  of  increased  prayer  and  watchfulness  ; 
and  the  idea  of  a  sister  dwelling  in  the  presence  of  Jesus, 
seemed  to  sublimate  her  thoughts,  and  give  her  a  sedate- 
ness  that  never  left  her  again. 

Though  then  only  in  her  eleventh  year,  and  always  full 
of  sweet  flexibility  of  temper,  that  led  her  to  enter  with 
readiness  into  the  interests  and  engagements  of  others,  to 
Mary  there  was  an  end  of  May-day  gambols,  of  constructing 
grottos,  of  taking  the  lead  in  lively  games.  Converse  with 
her  seniors,  listening  when  they  conversed,  reading,  writing, 
and  enjoying  the  green  earth  and  sky  alone,  seemed  to  be 
all  the  excitement  she  desired.  During  the  communion 
services  in  the  early  spring  of  her  twelfth  year,  when  she 
was  in  delicate  health,  a  letter  from  one,  M^hose  watchful 
eye  took  in  much  that  was  not  made  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, contains  this  remark : — '  Dear  Mary  had  a  melting 
day  on  Sabbath,  weeping  and  praying  for  more  love.  She 
was  able  to  be  in  church  for  a  short  time.  I  trust  there 
are  many  gracious  marks  about  her.' 

The  next  winter,  she,  with  trembling  and  humble  anxie- 
ty, asked  if  she  might  be  counted  worthy  to  approach  the 
table  of  the  Lord.  Her  father  told  her  that  he  hoped  and 
believed  that  she  loved  her  Lord  now,  and  as  the  commu- 
nion is  an  ordinance  in  which  he  reveals  himself  to  those 
who  love  him,  he  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  be  held 
back  on  account  of  age  ;  and  he  trusted  she  would  be 
strengthened  to  perseverance  by  partaking  of  it.  She  then 
3 


26  MEMOIROF 

requested  to  be  permitted  to  sliare  in  the  instructions  of  a 
faithful  friend  of  her  father,  hoping  for  more  guidance,  as 
she  felt  that  her  parents  had  already  told  her  all  they  could 
on  the  affecting  subject.  This  request  was  most  cordially 
acceded  to,  and  she  passed  some  time  in  the  family  of  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Hunter,  then  of  Swinton.  She  returned  from 
those  affectionate  friends  and  faithful  servants  of  the  Lord, 
accompanied  by  expressions  of  increased  love,  on  their 
part,  and  of  delight  with  her  ductility,  and  congratulations 
to  her  parents  on  having  received  from  God  the  gift  of  such 
a  child. 

While  absent,  she  wrote  little  notes,  which  exhibit  the 
state  of  her  mind  : — '  I  fear  I  am  not  sufhciently  anxious 
about  preparing  ;  but  earnestly  desire  to  be  more  so.  Please 
write  to  me  soon,  and  stir  me  up.  I  know  you  pray  for 
me.' — '  I  hope  to  have  a  letter  from  you.  Oh  !  I  feel  that 
I  do  not  love  God  enough.  I  feel  that  I  am  very  sinful, 
and  backward  in  laying  down  my  burden  at  the  foot  of  my 
Redeemer's  cross.  But  I  desire  to  love  God.  I  feel  that, 
if  I  had  no  hope  in  him,  I  should  be  miserable  indeed.  O  ! 
I  cannot  think  what  there  is  in  the  world  that  makes  us  so 
ready  to  do  as  our  wicked  adversary  bids  us,  rather  than 
to  follow  after  our  Lord,  who  hath  first  loved  us.  But  still 
I  know  that  God  will  not  leave  me  to  myself.  He  knows 
the  most  secret  thoughts  of  my  heart,  and  knows  the  way 
to  purify  me  to  himself.  "  He  has  seen  my  ways  and  will 
heal  me.  Having  loved  his  own,  he  will  love  them  to  the 
end  ;  he  will  not  suffer  his  faithfulness  to  fail." ' — *  When 
I  come  home,  you  will  counsel  me,  and  lead  me  closer  to 
my  God.  O  how  I  wish  for  a  closer  walk  with  God  !  and 
I  know  that  in  his  own  good  time  he  will  grant  me  this 
desire  of  my  heart !' 

No  written  memorial  of  this  affecting  point  in  the  young 
Christian's  pilgrimage  appears,  but  it  dwells  in  memory  as 
a  time  of  much  tenderness  of  spirit,  and  mutual  prayer, 
and  one  remarkable  result  experienced  by  her  earthly  guar- 
dians was,  that  she  seemed  now  devoted  and  sealed  an 
heir  of  God,  and  joint-heir  with  Christ ;  so  that,  although, 
as  still  in  the  wilderness,  she  continued  an  object  of  tender 
care  and  anxiety,  yet  the  great  matter  was  settled.  The 
good  work  was  not  only  clearly  begun  in  her  soul,  but  ad- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  27 

vancing  steadily  ;  and  her  gracious  God,  to  whom  she  had 
given  herself,  was  pledged  to  carry  it  on  till  the  day  of  the 
Lord  Jesus. 

Her  education  from  this  time  went  on  rapidly  under  her 
tutor,  with  such  assistance  as  Kelso  afforded,  in  those 
points  of  cultivation  peculiar  to  her  sex,  till  she  entered 
her  fifteenth  year.  From  various  essays  in  prose  and 
verse  which  had  been  appointed  as  exercises  for  her  mind, 
her  versification  of  a  well-known  Greek  ode  is  selected,  as 
it  peculiarly  delighted  her  father,  on  account  of  the  har- 
mony and  freedom  of  its  numbers.  The  subject  is  Danae 
with  the  infant  Perseus.  Her  tutor  read  it  to  her  in  Eng- 
lish prose,  and  she  repaid  him  by  the  following  verses  ; — 

*  INVOCATION. 

'Ye  gentle  muses,  I  invoke  your  aid  ; 

Ye  dwellers  in  Parnassus,  hear  my  prayer  : 
To  tune  your  lyre  assist  a  simple  maid, 

And  make  her  numbers  your  peculiar  care/ 


*  ODE. 


*  The  winds  and  waves  were  softly  sighing 
Over  the  billowy  heaving  main  : 

The  sea-bird  was  all  wildly  cryin.g, 
And  soaring  o'er  the  watery  plain. 

And  there  a  chest,  in  gentle  motion, 
Was  lifted  with  the  rising  wave, 

As  floating  on  the  restless  ocean, 
It  hasted  to  a  sea-beat  grave. 

Imprisoned  in  this  darksome  dwelling, 

There  lay  a  lady  and  a  child  : 
Her  bosom  was  with  sorrow  swelling  ; 

And  thus  she  spake  in  accents  wild  : 

"  With  grief,  my  son,  my  heart  is  breaking, 

For  fast  we're  drifting  to  the  tomb, 
While  thou  thy  sweet  repose  art  taking, 
Unmindful  of  our  coming  doom. 

"  How  canst  thou  lie  in  breathing  slumber 
Within  this  darksome  prison  room. 

While  bars  and  bolts  in  countless  number 
Confine  us  in  eternal  gloom. 


28  M  E  M  0  I R    0  r 

"  Thou  heedest  not  the  wild  waves  moaning, 

With  purple  mantle  round  thee  thrown  ; 
Thou  hearest  not  thy  mother's  groaning, — 

I  pour  my  wail  to  winds  alone  ! 

"  Thou,  who  with  pleasure  used  to  hearken^ 

And  make  my  will  thy  law,  by  choice, 
Would'st  now,  when  tempests  round  us  darken, 

Attend,  if  thou  couldst  hear  my  voice. 

"  Ah  !  still  unconscious  press  thy  pillow, 
Tranced  in  sweet  slumbers,  dearest  child  : 

Hush,  hush,  thou  deep,  each  murmuring  billow  f 
Be  still,  be  still,  ye  breakers  wild  ! 

"My  soul,  my  heart,  is  rending — breaking  ; 
Be  still,  my  wo, — be  still,  be  still  ! 
'     In  deep,  deep  sleep  that  knows  no  waking, 

Be  sunk,  ye  phantoms,  all  of  ill !"  '  , 

In  the  selection  of  texts  to  be  learned  as  one  of  the 
early  nursery  exercises,  there  had  been  a  view,  from  the 
first,  to  such  as  could  be  most  usefully  employed  in  prayer  ; 
and  as  soon  as  the  mind  was  strengthened  sufficiently  to 
apply  them,  the  children  were  accustomed  to  compose 
prayers  by  the  combination  of  one,  two,  or  three  of  these 
texts  in  the  form  of  petitions  ;  so  that  prayers  were  dictated 
by  those  who  could  not  yet  write,  and  were  written  in  all 
the  initiatory  stages  of  penmanship.  Except  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  they  were  scarcely  taught  anything  approaching  to 
a  form,  from  the  conviction,  that  the  habit  of  exerting  the 
mind  to  discover  its  own  wants,  and  to  employ  the  contin- 
ually increasing  store  of  scripture  in  seeking  for  their 
supply,  was  a  likely  way  to  ward  off  heedlessness  and 
formality  in  this  holy  exercise.  After  being  exercised  in 
this  manner  for  a  while,  they  were  gradually  brought  to 
pray  in  turn  on  some  part  of  the  Sabbath  day,  and  they 
who  devised  the  little  plan,  have  reason  to  praise  Him  who 
giveththe  increase,  for  he  shed  on  it  the  dew  of  his  blessing. 
The  want  of  this  species  of  training,  forms,  in  many,  an 
impediment  to  social  usefulness  for  life  ;  they  may  pray 
with  the  spirit,  but  for  want  of  practice  they  are  constrained 
to  be  silent  when  it  would  be  for  edification  that  they 
should  speak;  and,  while  it  is  readily  conceded  that  fluency 
does  not  necessarily  insure  spiritual  prayer,  it  must  also  be 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  29 

admitted  that  spiritual  prayer  without  utterance,  is    not 
capable  of  being  helpful  and  consolitary  to  others. 

How  many  a  sick  person  is  visited  in  the  spirit  of  Chris- 
tian love,  but  quitted  with  a  feeling  of  imperfection  in  the 
performance  of  the  duty,  because  the  blessing  of  His  spirit, 
who  alone  can  make  good  council  to  grow,  has  not  been 
invoked.  How  many  a  class  for  instruction  is  opened  and 
closed  without  prayer,  which,  when  sincerely  offered,  acts 
as  a  frame-work  or  inclosure  to  hedge  in  the  good  seed, 
and  shelter  it  from  the  birds  of  the  air  that  are  so  ready  to 
carry  it  away.  Were  the  teachers  or  visitors  of  the  sick 
habituated  from  early  days  to  fashion  petitions  for  them- 
selves, and  to  pray  with  members  of  their  own  family 
occasionally,  all  embarrassment  would  be  avoided,  and  one 
temptation  to  the  omission  of  this  duty  would  be  removed. 
This  subject  is  dwelt  on  with  the  more  earnestness,  be- 
cause, in  these  times  of  rapid  movement,  when  families 
quit  their  scenes  of  study  to  be  suddenly  scattered  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  their  own  consolation  and  stedfastness, 
and  their  means  of  usefulness  to  others,  cannot  fail  to  be 
promoted  by  readiness  in  prayer.  By  this  gift  they  may 
have  the  honour  to  assist  in  hastening  the  latter  day  glories ; 
without  it  they  may  be  obliged  to  see  their  brother  have 
need  of  spiritual  aid,  and  stand  silent  by. 

A  prayer  of  Mary  Lundie,  preserved  by  the  care  of  a 
maternal  friend,  has  just  been  forwarded  from  its  long 
hiding-place,  which  is  of  too  great  length  for  insertion,  but 
which  contains  the  outlines  of  those  holy  desires  that  in 
maturer  years  are  to  be  seen  in  her  diary.  The  juvenility 
of  some  expressions  proves  the  youth  of  the  petitioner, 
while  intercession  for  the  sick,  the  ungodly,  the  heathen, 
for  ministers  and  for  missionaries,  prove  that  her  heart  was 
already  expanded  in  Christian  love  to  embrace  the  world, 
and  to  desire  that  Christ  should  be  glorified  by  the  salvation 
of  all  men.  Her  interest  in  the  extension  of  the  Redeemer's 
kingdom  was  early  exhibited.  Having  heard  it  suggested 
in  the  Sabbath  school  that  the  children  gave  nothing  of 
their  own  if  they  begged  pence  from  their  parents,  and  that 
they  ought  to  exercise  self-denial,  and  give  to  the  mission- 
ary cause  money  which  they  would  have  expended  on  their 
3* 


30  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

own  indulgences,  Mary  asked  that  she  might  eat  her  bread 
without  butter,  and  the  price  be  given  her  for  the  mission  box. 
About  this  time  a  watch,  which  was  an  old  family  piece, 
was  presented  to  Mary  by  two  much-loved  and  highly- 
esteemed  relatives.  Her  grateful  acceptance  of  the  gift, 
and  moral  musings  on  its  use,  were  expressed  in  the  follow- 
ing  lines  : — 

'  Believe  me,  dear  ladies,  tho'  long  I've  delayed 

To  return  for  your  present  the  thanks  that  are  due, 
My  heart  has  its  tribute  of  gratitude  paid, 
And  now  that  heart's  tribute  I  offer  to  you. 

How  pure  is  its  substance  !  how  brightly  it  shines  ! 

Its  springs  with  what  beauty  and  order  they  move  T 
But  charms  more  delightful  than  these  it  combines, 

Since  it  comes  as  a  pledge  of  affection  and  love. 

When  I  list  to  its  voice,  that's  so  constant  and  low, 
It  seems  to  be  warning  me.  Time  will  not  stay  ; 

It  tells  the  swift  moments,  as  onward  they  flow 
In  the  stillness  of  night  and  the  bustle  of  day. 

And  thirty  years  past  (passing  strange  does  it  seem), 
It  number'd  the  hours  as  they  fleeted  away  ; 

Before  I  beheld  the  fair  day's  cheering  beam, 
Its  voice  was  the  same  as  I  hear  it  to-day. 

Ah  !   'tis  a  reproof  to  fond  man's  foolish  care, 
Who  treasures  for  earth  as  his  ultimate  joy. 

That  the  gay  and  the  lovely,  the  bright  and  the  fair, 
To  memory  are  lost,  before  this  little  toy. 

Let  it  teach  me  to  work  in  the  days  that  are  given ; 

Let  it  teach  me  to  flee  from  the  follies  of  earth  ; 
Let  it  teach  me  to  garner  a  treasure  in  heaven, 

And  esteem  sacred  wisdom  more  precious  than  mirth. 

And  may  you,  my  dear  friends,  while  your  journey  endures, 
In  improvement  of  time  and  in  happiness  dwell ; 

Enjoy  the  repose  that  religion  ensures  ; 

Peace  and  comfort  be  with  you — dear  ladies,  farewell  1* 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  31 


CHAPTER  II. 


SCHOOL      DAY 


It  is  not  uncommon  for  those  who  are  seeking  with  a 
prayerful  spirit,  to  pursue  the  plans  which  seem  best  adapt- 
ed to  an  end,  to  feel  themselves  arrested  by  their  frustra- 
tion, and  thus  constrained  to  trace  back  all  their  motives, 
and  the  elements  on  which  their  judgment  was  formed, 
with  a  view  to  discover  the  occasion  of  their  failure. 
There  is  one,  however,  and  that  the  sovereign  element,  at 
work  in  the  history  of  the  child  of  God,  which  is  often  in- 
visible even  to  the  eye  of  faith,  until  it  is  enabled  to  cast 
its  glance  back  over  the  finished  history  of  that  child. 
When  we  enter  into  the  sanctuary  of  God,  we  become 
aware  that,  while  we  were  in  pursuit  of  one  species  of  at- 
tainments, the  Holy  One,  regardless  of  our  limited  wishes, 
was,  in  his  own  way,  pursuing  his  will,  which  was  the 
sanctification  of  the  object  of  our  care.  Under  this  new 
aspect,  we  perceive  that  what  we  deemed  a  disappointment 
was  in  fact  a  blessing,  and  that,  instead  of  our  Father  in 
heaven  declining  to  co-operate  with  us,  he  is  fulfilling  our 
dearest  desires  by  taking  the  work  into  his  own  hand. 

This  was  remarkably  verified  in  the  first  year  that  Mary 
was  separated  from  her  family.  It  was  with  trembling  and 
prayerful  anxiety  that  the  resolution  was  come  to  of  parting 
with  one  so  lovely,  so  sensitive,  and  so  reflecting  ;  and  the 
selection  of  the  school  to  which  she  was  to  be  entrusted 
was  a  subject  of  the  most  anxious  care.  But,  at  the  end  of 
one  year,  when  that  school  was  permanently  closed,  the 
purposes  for  which  she  had  been  placed  there,  seemed  in 
so  great  a  degree  to  have  failed,  that  it  was  put  down  as  a 
serious  disappointment.  The  chief  object  had  been  to  find 
a  seminary  conducted  on  strictly  Christian  principles,  in 
connexion  with  the  attendance  of  excellent  teachers  ;  and 
these  seemed  to  have  been  found.  Perhaps  the  lady  who 
communicated  with  the  inquirer,  and  described  the  internal 


32  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

regulation  of  the  place,  was  not  called  upon  to  reveal  to  a 
stranger,  that  she,  in  a  few  weeks,  purposed  to  marry,  and 
leave  the  concern  under  the  direction  of  a  sister.  Perhaps 
her  humility  made  her  fail  to  perceive  that,  when  she  went, 
the  genius,  the  energy,  the  power  of  control,  and  the  in- 
dustry of  the  establishment  went  with  her.  But  so  it  was  ; 
and  it  was  speedily  obvious  that  there  was  the  want  of  a 
pervading  mind  to  correct  prejudices,  to  guide  and  influ- 
ence opinions  and  affections,  and  to  discern  and  rebuke 
youthful  follies.  So  that  while  lessons  were  carefully 
taught,  personal  comfort  sedulously  cared  for,  and  religious 
duties  and  privileges  provided  as  became  a  Christian,  the 
new  head  of  the  establishment  failed  to  detect  a  strong 
under-current  of  trickery  and  deception,  which,  though  ap- 
plied to  mere  baubles,  had  a  pernicious  effect  on  those  of 
upright  purpose,  who  had  not  force  to  resist  being  swept 
away  by  its  strength. 

Into  this  scene,  then,  after  all  the  care  in  selection,  was 
this  child  of  home  introduced,  and  there  was  she  left  to 
make  her  way  alone.  Her  own  description  in  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  written  during  the  holidays,  will  give  the  simple 
view  of  her  state.  To  her  parents  she  did  not  reveal  it, 
though  it  had  been  stipulated  that  she  should  enjoy  the  un- 
wonted privilege  of  corresponding  with  them  without  the 
supervision  of  her  governess  : — 

*  London  J  Jan.  5,  1830. 
*  I  have  been  tolerably  happy  at  school.  For  the  first 
few  weeks,  indeed,  I  was  very  miserable.  I  felt  myself 
for  the  first  time  among  total  strangers.  When  mamma 
left  me,  and  I  looked  round  and  saw  not  one  by  whom  I 
was  loved,  or  for  whom  I  myself  had  any  regard — when  I 
found  my  minutest  actions  criticised,  and  my  words  re- 
peated, I  did  fear  that  I  should  have  nothing  but  unhappi- 

ness.     Miss  B ,  the  lady  whom  mamma  and  I  saw  the 

first  time  we  called,  had  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  and  having 
a  poetic  imagination,  had,  with  the  intention  of  inspiring  all 
the  girls  with  love  for  me,  given  them  a  most  enthusiastic 
and  mistaken  description  ;  so  that,  as  was  quite  natural, 
they  expected  something  more  than  usually  excellent, — 
one  who  would  be  superior  to  them  all,  and  in  whom  they 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  33 

should  discover  very  few  faults.  This  was  not  unmingled 
with  envy.  Consequently,  when  they  saw  a  poor  sorrow- 
ful girl,  quite  unaccustomed  to  school  tricks  and  school 

girls,  they  were  disappointed,  imagined  that  Miss  B 

had  unjustly  preferred  me,  and  all  turned  away  from  me. 
I  had  a  great  deal  of  prejudice  to  overcome,  for,  when  a 
few  of  the  girls  whom  the  others  most  look  up  to  are  hos- 
tile to  any  one,  the  rest  very  easily  follow  in  their  train. 
In  this  way  my  situation  was  more  unhappy  than  that  of 
the  others.  One  young  lady,  whom  I  liked  best,  left  school 
in  bad  health  in  the  middle  of  the  half  year.  However  I 
have  got  over  most  of  that  now,  and  two,  who  persecuted 
me  most,  like  me  best.' 

Many  of  the  causes  of  persecution  were  also  subjects  of 
envy, — such  as  writing  uninspected  letters  ;  possessing  a 
desk,  with  the  privilege  of  locking  up  her  treasures  in  it ; 
discovering  by  accident  that  she  understood  Latin,  an  enor- 
mity which  poor  Mary,  in  her  simplicity,  had  no  suspicion 
could  offend  ;  the  possession  of  a  miniature  of  her  mother ; 
and,  above  all,  her  having  been  caught  in  the  perpetration 
of  such  a  breach  of  esprit  de  corps,  as  to  look  on  it  in  her 
own  room,  with  the  tear  in  her  eye.  These,  and  such 
things  as  these,  which  proved  that  the  culprit  had  *  a  world 
elsewhere,'  which  she  preferred  to  the  society  of  her  pre- 
sent associates,  were  offences  sufficient  to  bring  on  her  in- 
experienced and  devoted  head,  a  succession  of  petty  vexa« 
tions  and  annoyances,  which,  in  the  insulated  microcosm 
of  a  boarding-school,  were  enough  to  afflict  her  spirit.  It 
was  the  means  of  leading  her  to  seek  guidance  and  support 
in  prayer  ;  and  the  discipline  of  heart  which  cost  her  so 
much  pain,  teaching  her  to  turn  away  wrath  by  a  soft  an- 
swer, to  overlook  v/ilful  endeavours  to  place  her  in  a  false 
position  with  the  governess,  and  to  pray  for  those  who  did 
so  without  either  scorning  their  contempt  or  courting  their 
favour,  was  blest  to  her  for  her  remaining  years.  In  the 
home  where  she  was  beloved  and  cherished,  she  could  not 
have  encountered  such  circumstances  ;  and  here  was  visi- 
ble the  master  hand  taking  upon  himself  the  education  of 
this  dear  child,  in  his  own  blessed  way,  but  in  a  manner 
which  could  not  fail  to  be  distressing  to  her  parents,  when 
they  discovered  it. 


34  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

An  incident  puerile  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  without, 
but  capable  of  exciting  a  considerable  sensation  within  a 
boarding-school,  developed  her  character  and  purposes,  in 
a  way  that  turned  the  tide  in  her  favour.  The  spirit  of 
frolic,  or  the  pleasantness  of  eating  bread  in  secret,  had 
tempted  the  young  people  to  enlist  the  cook  (whose  integ- 
rity they  had  means  to  turn  aside,)  in  their  service,  to  pur- 
chase for  them  a  variety  of  cakes,  which  were  to  be  enjoy- 
ed in  an  upper  chamber,  when  the  seniors  of  the  establish- 
ment supposed  them  to  have  retired  to  rest.  One  young  lady, 
who  had  so  far  dared  to  judge  for  herself  as  not  to  join  in  any 
act  of  persecution  against  this  lonely  being,  entreated  her 
to  engage  in  the  scheme.  She  urged  her  by  the  motive, 
that  if  she  did  not,  it  would  only  render  her  more  unpopu- 
lar ;  that  the  rest  expected,  if  she  did  not,  she  would  cer- 
tainly betray  them  ;  that  the  cook  would  lose  her  place, 
Sic.  &c.  In  short,  in  the  form  of  the  tempter,  she  made  it 
appear  that  the  only  amiable  and  safe  mode  was  to  follow 
the  multitude  to  do  evil.  Mary  was  enabled  steadily  to  re- 
sist, and  was  left  alone  in  her  chamber,  by  the  gentle  girl 
who  had  urged  her,  and  who  was  herself  so  convinced  by 
her  arguments,  that  what  they  did  was  wrong,  that  she  only 
joined  the  revellers  above  stairs,  from  the  fear  of  sharing 
in  Mary's  persecution,  if  she  stayed  with  her.  After  the 
secret  banquet  was  over,  the  same  kind  friend  brought  a 
portion  of  the  spoil  to  the  bed  where  poor  Mary  lay  in  tears. 
She  urged  her  to  accept  of  her  dainties  ;  she  even  pressed 
a  bunch  of  grapes  against  her  feverish  lips,  but  she  steadily 
declined  to  taste  them.  Her  conduct  excited  great  alarm 
in  the  little  band,  who  saw  a  fair  occasion  afforded  of  ven- 
geance for  all  their  wrongs,  by  a  simple  statement  of  the 
tfuth.  But  when  some  days  past,  and  the  same  quiet  de- 
portment was  observed,  neither  threat  nor  inuendo  exciting 
their  fears,  first  one,  then  another,  became  convinced  of 
their  injustice  and  unkindness.  Time  after  time,  she  found 
notes  of  apology,  and  overtures  of  reconciliation  slipped 
into  her  work-box ;  and  at  length  the  most  adverse  threw 
down  the  weapons  of  their  petty  warfare,  and  sought  her 
friendship  ; — thus  verifying,  in  their  confined  circle,  the 
saying  of  the  wise  man,  '  When  a  man's  ways  please  the 
Lord,  he  causeth  even  his  enemies  to  be  at  peace  with  him.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  35 

As  the  holidays  approached,  anxiety  about  the  awarding 
of  prizes  arose  to  a  great  height.  Mary  Limdie  received 
the  premium  for  general  Christian  and  lady-like  deport- 
ment, by  a  great  majority  of  marks ;  and,  when  another 
pupil  received  the  music -prize,  about  which  there  had  at 
one  time  been  a  doubt  whether  Mary  should  not  have  ob- 
tained it,  she  congratulated  her  rival,  and  kissed  her  with 
such  affectionate  sincerity,  that  it  was  marked  by  the 
whole  school ;  and,  from  that  time,  she  might,  if  she  would 
have  accepted  the  bad  pre-eminence,  have  been  the  leader, 
instead  of  the  persecuted.  The  lady  who  had  presided, 
during  that  year,  at  the  close  of  it  was  also  married,  and 
the  establishment  was  broken  up.  No  one,  therefore,  can 
be  injured  by  this  delineation  ;  and  as  she  has  since  enter- 
ed the  eternal  world,  her  feelings  cannot  be  wounded  by 
it.  Where  the  head  of  a  seminary  is  of  sharper  eyes  than 
this  lady,  and  is  as  kind  and  conscientious  as  she  without 
question  was,  exercises  of  tyranny,  and  evil  temper  of  this 
description  cannot  occur.  The  trial  was  severe  on  one 
whom  her  father,  in  writing  of  it,  described  as  *  a  moral 
plant,  ill  adapted  to  the  cold  clime  of  this  world ; '  and  has 
been  always  remembered  with  concern,  but  also  with  the 
thankful  consciousness  that  He  who  alone  can  bring  good 
out  of  evil,  stood  by  her,  in  her  hour  of  temptation,  and 
sanctified  the  trial  to  her  advancement  in  holiness. 

Mary  was  fortunate  in  an  affectionate  and  very  judicious 
friend,  who  opened  for  her  a  home  during  vacations,  and 
treated  her  as  her  own  child — entering  into  her  concerns  ; 
watching  her  improvement ;  suggesting  alterations  in  her 
studies  ;  and  writing  faithful  details  of  her  observations  to 
her  distant  family.  This  highly  estimable  lady  was  remem- 
bered ever  with  grateful  and  dutiful  regard ;  and  the  pros- 
pect of  seeing  her  again  was  held  among  the  bright  spots  in 
the  vista  of  future  years.  This  hope  was  destined  to  be 
disappointed.  One  of  this  enlightened  friend's  many  acts 
of  considerate  and  enlarged  kindness,  was  obtaining  per- 
mission for  Mary  to  pass  a  week  with  her  in  the  month  of 
May,  1830.  During  this  time,  her  letters,  overflowing 
with  tidings  from  the  meetings  of  religious  societies,  which 
introduced  her  to  so  brilliant  and  precious  a  section  of  the 
talent  and  philanthropy  of  her  country,  showed  how  well 


OO  JI  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

bestowed  was  that  week  of  indulgence,  and  of  high  enjoy- 
ment. It  was  delightful  to  her  father  to  observe  the  eager- 
ness with  which  her  mind  grasped  at  those  subjects  which 
had  engaged  his  own  best  energies,  and  touched  his  best 
feelings,  for  nearly  the  whole  of  his  Ufe.  Her  descriptions 
of  Wilberforce,  Clarkson,  Buxton,  and  Brougham,  and  of 
their  speeches, — the  enthusiasm  with  which  she  yielded 
her  soul  to  the  powers  of  eloquence,  and  the  true  feeling 
with  which  she  embraced  every  just  and  holy  cause,  as  it 
was  presented,  proved  that  these  opportunities  were  power- 
ful auxiliaries  in  the  development  of  her  mind,  and  com- 
pensated, in  a  great  degree,  for  some  defects  in  her  school. 
One  great  object  to  be  sought  in  education,  is  the  expan- 
sion of  mind,  not  merely  by  the  study  of  books,  but  by  pre- 
senting external  objects  to  the  observation,  as  its  powers 
become  stronger.  Whatever  has  the  effect  of  loosening  the 
prejudices  which,  in  some  characters,  form  the  chief  part 
of  early  attachment,  is  an  important  auxiliary  in  mental 
culture.  A  young  person,  born  in  a  great  city,  will  acquire 
a  thousand  new  sources  of  delight,  by  going  to  school  in 
the  country.  The  sights  and  sounds  of  nature,  substituted 
for  the  ceaseless  pavement,  and  the  throng  of  men ;  the  very 
view  of  snow,  resting  on  cottage-roofs,  and  clothing  every 
spray,  unfolds  compartments  in  the  budding  mind,  which 
might  otherwise  be  shrunk  up  and  withered  through  a  length- 
ened life.  The  converse  is  also  true  ;  and  a  young  person 
accustomed  to  country  scenes,  or  the  habits  and  notions 
of  a  country  town,  will  not  only  acquire  many  new  ideas, 
but  escape  from  many  prejudices,  by  removal  to  a  city ; 
and  this,  not  at  pecuniary  cost,  or  at  the  expense  of  hard 
study,  but  by  the  mere  circumstance  of  change  of  place. 

The  same  thing  holds  true  with  respect  to  religious 
forms  and  sects.  Mary  Lundie,  though  attached  to  the 
Church  of  Scotland  by  a  long  line  of  ancestors — some  of 
whom  had  suffered  persecution  in  her  cause — though  edu- 
cated in  the  most  respectful  attachment  to  her  parent  church, 
where  she  had  learned  all  that  she  knew  of  the  Saviour, 
and  of  which  she  had  the  privilege  to  be  an  early  member, 
yet  learned,  during  her  sojourn  in  the  south,  with  much 
gladness  of  heart,  to  enjoy  the  services  of  the  Church  of 
England,  and  to  drink  in,  with  avidity,  the  ardent  addresses 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  37 

of  some  of  the  evangelical  dissenters ;  and  thus  was  laid 
the  foundation  of  that  catholic  spirit,  which  has  doubtless 
expanded  in  the  region  of  her  present  habitation,  to  em- 
brace  all,  by  whatsoever  name  they  may  have  been  distin- 
guished on  earth,  who  have  loved  the  Lord  Jesus  in  sin- 
cerity. These  valuable  objects  were  promoted  by  converse 
with  many  Christian  friends,  with  whom  she  was  permitted 
to  hold  intercourse  in  London ;  and,  while  careless  ob- 
servers might  criticise  external  accomplishments,  her  pa- 
rents blessed  God  that  her  Christian  love,  emancipated  from 
mere  local  trammels,  expatiated  over  all  the  churches  of 
Christ  with  benignant  sympathy. 

The  close  of  the  seminary  in  which  her  first  year  was 
passed,  rendered  it  necessary  to  seek  another.  Her  ideas 
of  what  that  other  should  be,  are  thus  expressed  by  her,  to 
her  friend  Mrs.  Evans  : — '  I  do  want  a  clever  school.  Not 
one  where  there  is  a  routine  of  mechanical  tasks.  I  want 
something  to  exercise  my  head  ;  something  to  improve  my 
composition,  which  might  easily  be  effected  in  conjunction 
with  lighter  accomplishments,  if  there  were  a  clever  sensi- 
ble person  who  would  take  an  interest  in  it. — I  hope  that, 
wherever  I  go,  I  may  hear  the  gospel  preached.' 

In  the  seminary  finally  selected,  that  of  Mrs.  Gordon,  in 
Euston  Square,  she  found  a  congenial  circle,  a  happy  home, 
and  the  means  of  improvement  to  her  heart's  content. 
Those  days  flowed  sweetly  on,  where  pupil  and  teacher 
were  attached  as  sisters ;  where  instruction  was  commu- 
nicated and  received,  with  equal  avidity  ;  where  the  minu- 
tiae of  knowledge,  and  the  higher  communings  of  spirits  pre- 
paring for  heaven,  were  blended  in  their  daily  occupations. 
On  all  occasions,  Mary  expressed  her  respect  and  love  for 
Mrs.  and  the  Misses  Gordon  ;  and,  with  Miss  Isabella,  she 
formed  a  tender  friendship,  which  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  the  death  of  that  talented  and  devoted  young  lady,  a  few 
short  months  after  she  had  entered  on  a  new  line  of  duties 
in  the  married  state.  The  survivors  must  forgive  this  tri- 
bute to  a  memory  so  precious,  and  so  linked  with  the  ar- 
dent admiration  and  love  of  Mary  Lundie.  Three  years 
after  she  had  enjoyed  this  tuition,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend, 
she  says,  'Have  you  heard  that  my  ever-beloved  Mrs. 
Clark  (the  matrimonial  name  of  Miss  I.  Gordon,)  has  en- 
4 


38  MEMOIROF 

tered  her  rest  ?  Her  end  was  triumphant ;  but  0,  what  a 
loss  !  Even  to  me  it  is  most  afflicting.  What,  then,  must 
it  be  to  her  family, — to  her  husband,  who  possessed  the 
treasure  but  eight  months  !  O,  to  meet  her  in  our  Father's 
house.  The  south  has  lost  half  its  ch-arms,  now  my  belov- 
ed friend  is  gone.  Pray  that  my  affections  may  be  fixed 
on  God,  and  not  traverse  earth  to  find  something  to  fill  up 
the  blank.  When  shall  I  love  a  young  friend,  as  I  loved 
her?' 

This  extract  is  purposely  antedated,  to  exhibit  the  feli- 
city of  the  pupil  under  so  beloved  a  teacher.  Here  also 
may  be  fitly  introduced,  an  extract  from  a  letter  from  this 
lamented  friend,  after  Mary  had  finished  her  first  half  year, 
under  the  roof  of  Mrs.  Gordon. 

*  69  Euston  Square,  January  3,  1831. 
*  *  *  '  We  trust  you  will  find  her  time  has  not  been 
lost  while  under  our  care.  I  have  felt  great  pleasure  in 
instructing  her,  she  is  so  attentive  a  pupil ;  and  her  amia- 
ble dispositions,  combined  with  talent  and  piety,  have  en- 
deared her  not  a  little  to  us, — a  friendship  which,  I  trust, 
may  not  be  forgotten  when  we  part,  but  that  you  will  kind- 
ly allow  Mary  to  write  to  me  sometimes.  It  is  a  pleasing 
reflection,  that  any  of  our  dear  girls  are  fellow-pilgrims  in 
the  path  of  glory ;  and  I  may  indeed  congratulate  you  on 
having  your  eldest  child  a  follower  of  the  blessed  Saviour, 
as  the  influence  over  the  younger  ones  may  be  great.  We 
will  feel  the  loss  of  Miss  Lundie's  steady  example  much, 
as  the  sight  of  a  school  companion,  reading  her  Bible,  and 
walking  in  the  commands  of  God,  has  more  effect,  I  think, 
than  the  precepts  or  example  of  teachers.  There  is  one 
thing  which  vexes  me  about  Mary, — a  degree  of  untidiness, 
and  want  of  activity  about  such  things  as  she  considers  of 
minor  importance,  but  which  I  consider  of  great  value  to  a 
woman, — putting  on  her  clothes  firmly,  keeping  her  drawers 
neat,  (fee.  She  is  a  little  improved  in  these  respects  ;  and 
we  hope  will  be  much  more  so,  before  she  leaves  us.'  This, 
the  only  fault  which  reached  her  parents'  ears,  during  her 
stay  in  London,  would,  from  its  trifling  nature,  be  unworthy 
of  notice,  but  for  two  reasons : — 1st,  It  shows,  that  the  pic- 
ture drawn  is  designed  to  be  impartial ;  and,  2d,  We  shall 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  39 

see  that,  in  later  years,  when  domestic  occupations,  which 
she  always  considered  of  '  minor  importance,'  became  du- 
ties, she  gave  herself  to  them  with  zeal  and  diligence. 

With  that  dear  friend  whose  house  was  her  home,  during 
vacations,  a  constant  correspondence  was  kept  up  at  Kelso, 
and  over  her  letters  are  dispersed  remarks  and  information 
of  all  descriptions.  For  example,  during  her  sojourn  at 
the  first  school,  Mrs.  E.  says,  *  Mary  shines  among  her 
school-fellows  with  meek  radiance  ;  she  is  a  humble,  but 
dignified  young  person.  *  *  «=  j  think 

Mary  has  improved  generally.         «=  #  *         gj^^ 

has  also  learned  a  great  deal  of  that  kind  of  experience 
which  is  absolutely  necessary  for  getting  through  this  world, 
and  does  not  now  speak  of  what  she  considered  hardships, 
when  she  first  went  to  school.  Her  sense  of  divine  things 
seems  to  be  as  deep  as  when  I  first  conversed  with  her ; 
and  this  I  esteem  a  great  blessing,  considering  the  distrac- 
tions of  school,  and  the  trifling  and  folly  of  girls  at  all  schools. 
She  appears  to  be  conscientiously  attentive  to  the  best 
things  ;  and  I  trust  that  such  an  example  as  hers  may  prove 
a  blessing  to  others  in  the  school.  *  #  # 

Our  dear  girl  is  indeed  a  very  lovely  young  woman.  She 
excites  admiration,  and  the  greatest  interest,  in  all  our  cir- 
cle, and  yet  seems  quite  insensible  to  it.  We  shall  grieve, 
indeed,  when  the  time  comes  for  her  return  to  Scotland.' 

The  impression  derived  from  a  re-perusal  of  Mary's  let- 
ters from  school,  is,  that  she  exercised  conscientiousness 
in  her  endeavours  to  improve  in  all  her  studies,  accompan- 
ied by  a  considerate  reluctance  to  put  her  parents  to  ex- 
pense, and  a  modest  concern  lest  they  should  not  be  satis- 
fied with  her  attainments.  For  example,  *  Everybody 
thinks  it  would  be  a  great  pity  for  me  to  give  up  singing, 
which  I  greatly  prefer  to  any  other  accomplishment ;  but  if 
you  think  it  too  much,  of  course  I  shall  be  quite  willing  to 
drop  it.         *  *  *         J  i^^yQ  done,  I  think  I  may 

conscientiously  say,  all  I  can  to  improve  ;  and  I  can  assure 
you,  at  Miss  Gordon's  school,  the  solids  keep  pace  with 
the  adornments.^ 

She  adds,  '  So  you  think  of  sending  Corie  to  Glasgow 
College.  I  hope  his  principles  are  sufficiently  formed  to 
make  it  safe  for  him  to  leave  his  dear  home,  for  a  scene  in 


40  MEMOIROF 

which  he  cannot  fail  to  encounter  temptations,  to  which  he 
is  unaccustomed.  The  peace  of  God  is  the  only  anchor  to 
keep  the  mind  steady  in  the  midst  of  them.  If  my  being 
away,  dear  mother,  makes  it  more  difficult  for  you  to  part 
with  him,  and  if  he  will  lose  by  not  going  this  year,  let  me 
come  home  at  Michaelmas.' 

To  her  brother  she  wrote  while  at  college, — 

^London,  January  29,  1831. 

*  *  *  '  You,  as  well  as  myself,  are  separated 
from  our  dear  home.  I  felt  it  much  at  first ;  but  those 
among  whom  I  have  been  placed  have  proved  kind  and  ten- 
der friends ;  and  I  presently  found  that  I  was  no  longer  a 
stranger.  I  hope,  dear  Corie,  that  your  sojourn  in  Glasgow 
may  be  as  happy  as  mine  in  London.  *  *  * 
What  are  you  reading  in,  English,  Latin,  and  Greek  ?  My 
acquaintance  with  the  last  named  good  old  language  is  at 
an  end  ;  but  I  still  think  of  Latin  with  afi'ection,  and  some- 
times sigh  for  the  days  when  I  luxuriated  among  Virgil's 
bees  and  flowers,  or  mourned  for  Dido's  unhappy  lot.  But 
it  will  be  more  within  my  comprehension,  if  you  tell  me 
what  works  of  English  literature  have  lately  interested  you. 
I  hope  that  you  have  time  for  reading,  and  that  what  you 
do  read  is  calculated  to  improve  your  taste  and  understand- 
ing, and  increase  your  knowledge.  *  «  *  ^j-q 
you  learning  mathematics  ?  and,  if  so,  how  do  you  like  this 
study  ?  Some  people  are  very  fond  of  it,  but  I  cannot  say 
that  that  science  ever  haunted  my  dreams.*  I  have  been 
reading  Milman's  Fall  of  Jerusalem,  by  way  of  relaxation. 
It  is  a  beautiful  poem  ;  some  passages  transported  me  from 
school,  and  every  thing  else,  till  I  fancied  myself  in  the 
midst  of  the  falling  streets,  or  standing,  with  the  rescued 
Miriam,  by  the  calm  moonlight  at  the  "  fountain  of  night." 

*  Alluding  to  a  family  anecdote  of  an  uncle  of  past  generations,  who, 
when  a  student,  had  spent  the  hours,  till  long  past  midnight,  in  unsuc- 
cessful endeavours  to  solve  a  problem  (which  his  professor  had  done  be- 
fore him,  during  the  day,)  and  had  retired  to  rest  in  despair.  But,  when 
he  arose  in  the  morning,  he  found  the  solution  in  his  own  handwriting, 
on  his  own  desk,  proving  that,  in  his  dream,  his  mind  had  wrought  out 
what  his  waking  powers  had  failed  in,  and  that  he  had  risen  in  sleep, 
and  written  it  down. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  41 

I  have  read,  last  half  year,  five  volumes  of  Turner's  History 
of  England,  a  most  interesting  work.  I  think  you  would 
be  pleased  with  it.  It  does  not  confine  itself  to  what  pass- 
ed in  our  own  isle,  but  gives  a  clear  view  of  the  state  of 
other  European  nations.  This  is  an  advantage,  as  it  helps 
us  to  form  distinct  views  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  dif- 
ferent states,  at  one  time.  Arrangement,  you  know,  is  of 
great  importance.  A  little  knowledge,  in  my  opinion,  when 
combined  with  it,  is  better  than  a  good  deal  scattered  con- 
fusedly through  the  pericranium.  *  *  Dear 
mamma  and  papa  must  feel  your  absence  very  much.  I 
hope  they  may  not,  in  any  way,  be  disappointed  in  me. 
I  am  sincerely  desirous  to  make  myself  useful,  in  every  re- 
spect that  I  can.  I  feel  that  I  ought,  after  their  kindness 
in  allowing  me  to  remain  so  long  at  school,  where  my  en- 
ergies have  been  more  bent  on  improving  myself,  than  in 
benefiting  others. 

'  I  hope,  dear  C,  you  do  all  in  your  power  to  improve 
in  your  pursuits.  Perhaps  you  may  not  again  have  as 
much  time  for  study.  You  are  now  far  from  those  who 
guided  your  early  years  ;  but  remember  that  the  ever-pre- 
sent God  still  sees  all  your  deeds,  and  knows  your  thoughts, 
and  will  be  your  God  even  unto  death,  if  you  will  be  his 
son.  O  give  him  your  heart.  My  dear  brother,  a  steady 
principle  of  love  to  him  is  the  only  sure  protection  from  all 
those  snares  you  may  meet  with.  Let  his  word  be  your 
standard,  and  go  not  with  a  multitude  to  do  evil.  Persons 
brought  up  as  we  have  been,  have  much  to  answer  for. 
We  have  heard  what  it  is  to  love  God ;  and,  what  is  more, 
we  have  seen  it  exemplified  in  our  dear  parents,  whose  ex- 
amples have  been  constantly  before  us.  Your  sister's  prayer 
is,  that  the  God  of  your  fathers  may  be  yours  for  ever.' 

Mary  had  already  acquired  a  strength  of  judgment,  which 
secured  her  against  the  misleading  eftects  of  adulation. 
While  her  love  of  approbation  led  her  to  bask  in  the  purer 
sunshine  of  affection's  smile,  she  early  discerned  the  dis- 
tinction between  that  and  the  oblique  rays  of  selfish  com- 
pliment.    After  describing  a  family  to  which  she  had  been 

introduced,  she  added,  '  Miss is,  I  ought  to  tell  you, 

a  great  flatterer.  She  complimented  me  extremely  on  a 
little  foolish  poem  I  wrote  on  the  overturning  of  Mrs. 
4* 


42  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

's  writing-desk.     Happily  I  was  aware  of  her  pro- 
pensity, and  did  not  believe  her.' 

The  early  attention  of  members  of  the  other  sex  com- 
monly create  some  excitement  in  the  mind  of  a  girl, — 
arousing  the  conviction  of  approaching  womanhood,  and 
fannins:  either  sentiment  or  vanity,  according  to  the  charac- 
ter of  The  receiver.  The  only  notice  to  be  found  of  such  a 
circumstance  in  her  case,  is  this,  '  That  was  a  curious  let- 
ter sent  me  by  Mr. ;  but  as  I  showed  it  instantly  to 

dear  Mrs.  E.,  she  will  mention  it  to  you,  if  it  be  necessary.' 
Another  little  movement  betrayed  the  generous  and  self- 
denying  character  of  her  mind.  When  about  to  leave  Lon- 
donj  a  small  sum  of  money  was  sent,  for  her  to  expend  in 
the  way  she  liked  best ;  supposing  that  some  collections 
of  art  or  other  exhibitions,  might  have  been  still  unvisited  ; 
some  favourite  pieces  of  music  unprocured  ;  or  some  pretty 
garment  that  took  her  fancy,  which  she  might  like  to  pur- 
chase. From  this  fund  she  did  not  make  one  acquisition 
for  herself,  except  that  of  the  pleasure  of  presenting  gifts 
to  every  member  of  her  beloved  family ;  and  the  affec- 
tionate travelling  companion  who  accompanied  her  home, 
remarked,  that  the  expending  of  five  pounds  had  never  be- 
fore afforded  as  much  delight  to  an  owner. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  43 


CHAPTER  III. 

HER    FIRST    AFFLICTION. 

She  had  just  completed  her  seventeenth  year  when  she 
returned  to  Kelso.  The  radiant  joy  and  beaming  love  oc- 
casioned by  her  re-union  to  her  family,  her  glad  review  of 
the  dear  haunts  of  childhood,  her  humble  solicitude  lest  her 
attainments  should  fall  short  of  the  expectations  of  her  pa- 
rents, all  exhibited  the  simplicity  and  meekness  of  her  mind. 
Till  the  sense  of  novelty  wore  off,  she  was  really  uneasy 
lest  the  result  of  her  studies  should  prove  far  inferior  to 
their  expectations ;  and  repeatedly,  after  doing  anything 
which  exhibited  the  degree  of  her  acquisitions,  she  said, 
with  an  anxious  expression,  *  Ah,  I  fear  you  are  disap- 
pointed ;'  or,  *  you  hoped,  after  so  much  pains,  that  I 
should  have  done  that  better.' 

She  instantly  sought  to  occupy  her  attainments  by  com- 
municating them  to  her  juniors,  and  became  of  her  own 
accord  their  preceptress  in  any  thing  or  every  thing  that 
she  could  teach,  and  that  they  were  willing  to  learn.  She 
now,  also,  immediately  took  her  place  in  the  Sabbath  school 
as  a  teacher,  and  by  degrees  found  her  way  to  the  couch  of 
the  sick  female,  and  was  both  acceptable  and  useful  in  her 
■visits  there.  The  only  means  that  occur  of  showing  how 
much  her  heart  was  interested  in  these  engagements,  is  to 
quote  a  few  scattered  sentences  selected  from  letters  ad- 
dressed to  a  friend  in  Kelso,  a  year  or  two  after  her  tie  to 
that  place  had  been  broken  by  the  death  of  her  father. 

'  I  am  glad  you  think  Christy  sincerely  loves  the  truth. 
Oh,  I  trust  the  Searcher  of  hearts  has  accepted  her  as  a 
lowly  follower  of  his.  I  think  of  the  Sabbath  school  very 
often,  and  delight  to  remember  both  the  time  when  I  was  your 
pupil  there,  and  the  period,  short  and  precious  to  me,  when  I 
was  permitted  to  try  to  lead  a  few  dear  girls  to  Jesus  :  how  I 
should  rejoice  in  being  there  again.' — '  It  would  be  worth 
living  for,  if  one  could  benefit  but  one  immortal  soul, — and 


44  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

why  not  ?  Let  us  try,  seeking  divine  aid.  Your  constant 
aim  it  is,  dear  friend  ;  will  you  pray  that  it  may  be  mine 
too.' — '  Do  you  remember,  ray  dear  friend,  the  promise 
that  poor  Betsy  made  me  about  not  walking  on  Sunday, 
and  not  loitering  in  tlie  streets  ;  and  about  continuing  to 
try  to  pray  till  the  new  year  ?  I  often  wonder  how  she 
has  fulfilled  it,  and  should  be  very  grateful  if  you  would 
have  the  kindness  to  speak  to  her,  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  her.  Is  she  turning  to  Jesus,  and  learning  the  love 
which  can  alone  shield  her,  and  save  her  from  temptation  ? 
How  is  C.  M.  coming  on?  Does  M.  M.  attend  school  now? 
Excuse  these  questions,  but  I  am  anxious  about  the  girls.' 
*  You  know  how  deeply  interesting  to  us  is  all  we  hear  of 
the  efforts  made  for  the  good  of  the  dear  people  at  Kelso, 
and  with  all  those  efforts  your  name  is  most  closely  asso- 
ciated. God  bless  you,  my  dear  friend,  in  all  you  try  to 
do  for  his  glory.  I  often  sigh  to  remember  that  I  was  re- 
moved from  such  employ,  when  daily  becoming  more  in- 
terested in  it.  My  heart  clings  to  the  school,  Jeany  Ross, 
and  others.  There  is  far  more  peace  and  satisfaction  in 
living  to  be  useful  than  in  any  thing  else,  if  the  action 
spring  from  that  animating  motive,  love  to  Him  who  so 
much  loves  us.'  'I  used  to  think  it  strange  that  so  many 
young  ladies  were  in  this  respect  inactive.  I  was  not  then 
fully  conscious  how  much  I  owed  to  my  circumstances,  as 
the  child  of  a  pastor  ;  or  how  much  I  owed  to  my  beloved 
parents,  who  always  had  something  ready  for  me  to  expend 
my  energies  upon,  and  smoothed  the  way  so  nicely  for  me. 
It  is  difficult  for  me  now  ;  removed  from  my  own  employ- 
ments. I  have  not  yet  found  others  exactly  to  fill  their 
place,  and,  Oh,  it  is  painful  to  fear  that  one  is  but  a  cum- 
berer  of  the  ground.  *  *  *  I  am  surprised  at  having 
unconsciously  written  so  much  of  myself,  but  you  will  for- 
give me.  Will  you  pray  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  see  what 
duty  is,  and  to  do  it.  I  shall  feel  thankful  if  you  will,  and 
for  a  larger  and  surer  share  of  that  peace  that  is  only  known 
when  our  God  reigns  supreme  in  the  soul.' 

These  may  give  an  idea  of  what  engaged  and  interested 
her  most  during  her  first  year  after  leaving  school.  Her 
pleasures  and  sympathies  may  be  also  best  explained  by 
extracts  from  letters. 


MARYLUNDIE     DUNCAN.  45 

During  a  visit  to  that  faithful  friend  in  Northumberland, 
who  always  entertained  for  her  a  love  all  but  maternal,  and 
watched  the  development  of  her  character  with  generous 
pleasure,  she  wrote  as  follows  : — 

*  Yesterday  we  went  to  W.  to  hear  Mr.  B.'s  farewell 
sermon  ;  and,  as  the  carriage  is  small,  I  set  out  by  myself 
like  an  intrepid  damsel,  and  walked  the  distance,  having 
received  many  directions  which  way  to  turn.  All  these, 
however,  were  unnecessary,  for  the  stream  of  people  set  so 
strong  in  one  direction,  that  it  would  have  required  some 
ingenuity  to  go  wrong.  I  was  pleased  with  the  sight,  they 
went  along  so  quietly  and  soberly  in  their  Sunday  garb  : 
externally  at  least  they  are  a  set  of  respectable  peasantry. 
Every  new  situation  suggests  new  thoughts,  and  I  felt  more 
the  value  of  hearing  the  gospel  preached,  from  having  to 
make  some  exertion  to  attain  it.  I  wonder  if  this  feeling 
exists  in  its  force  with  those  who  do  so  every  Sabbath? 
Mr.  B.'s  discourses  were  very  impressive  :  there  are  few 
more  solemn  scenes  than  a  pastor  entering  his  charge,  or 
bidding  a  last  farewell  to  his  people.  *  *  *  We  keep 
early  hours  at  night,  and  I  rise  at  half-past  five,  and  have  a 
quiet  morning  before  breakfast.  Though  I  cannot  gain  so 
much  in  the  use  of  time  as  Elizabeth  Smith,  whose  life  I 
have  just  read,  was  so  happy  as  to  do,  I  greatly  value  it, 
and  do  not  like  to  let  it  slip  idly  away.' 

To  the  friend  whom  she  then  visited,  she  afterwards 
wrote  during  a  severe  family  bereavement.  *  If  we  could 
learn  to  regard  heaven  as  our  home,  we  should  be  much 
more  willing  to  part  with  our  dear  ones.  It  is  but  for  a 
little  while.  His  Father  has  called  him  to  himself  a  little 
sooner  than  the  rest  of  the  circle  to  whom  he  was  united 
in  Christian  love,  and  soon  you  shall  meet  him  again  in  a 
land  where  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away.  Yet  the 
rest  of  life's  journey  must  be  trod  without  him,  and  often 
will  the  remembrance  of  what  you  have  lost  send  a  pang 
to  your  heart.  Oh,  dearest  cousin,  may  all  of  you  feel  that 
there  is  a  fulness  in  Christ  to  supply  any  loss.  May  your 
steps  be  quickened  in  the  heavenly  way,  and  may  the  rich 
consolations  of  His  love  be  your  portion  for  ever.' 

It  will  be  concluded  from  all  that  is  stated,  that  her  mind 
was  not  only  of  a  thoughtful,  but  of  a  pensive  cast.     There 


46  M  E  M  0  T  R     0  F 

was,  however,  no  languid  sentimental  melancholy  in  this. 
On  the  contrary,  she  had  much  cheerfulness  of  temper,  ac- 
companied with  great  energy  of  character,  was  most  readily 
excited  to  action,  was  in  all  good  things  strenuous  in  exer- 
tion beyond  her  physical  strength,  which  was  never  great, 
and  no  mind  was  ever  more  flexible  to  enter  with  pleasure 
into  the  occupations  of  others,  nor  any  countenance  more 
easily  kindled  from  a  state  of  thoughtful  repose  to  that  of 
beaming  love  and  sympathy.  Her  aspirations,  it  is  true, 
were  after  objects  of  which  the  happiest  moments  in  the 
wilderness  give  but  a  feeble  earnest.  Her  enjoyments 
were  of  the  contemplative,  not  of  the  restless  or  noisy  class ; 
and,  from  the  deep  views  she  was  early  enabled  to  take  of 
sin,  and  eternal  responsibility,  a  tinge,  not  of  melancholy, 
but  of  sober  reflection  uncommon  to  her  years,  was  almost 
inseparable.  For  some  time  after  she  was  first  settled  at 
home,  far  from  the  associates  of  her  age  and  sex  with  whom 
she  had  formed  friendship  at  school,  and  not  fully  embarked 
on  a  course  of  useful  employment,  her  tender  father  would 
study  her  features,  and  then  ask,  with  a  half  dubious  coun- 
tenance, *Do  you  think  she  is  happy?'  The  question 
could  not,  without  some  reservation,  be  answered  in  the 
affirmative  then.  This  perishing  world,  with  its  perishing 
pleasures  and  disappointing  friendships,  is  not  calculated  to 
fill  an  immortal  mind.  But  now,  it  can  be  answered  with- 
out a  drawback.  Her  soul  is  satisfied  in  the  presence  of 
Him,  at  whose  right  hand  there  is  fulness  of  joy  for  ever- 
more.    <  Yes,  she  is  happy.' 

The  banks  of  primroses,  the  groves,  the  woods,  the 
rivers  of  her  native  place,  gave  zest  to  every  other  enjoy- 
ment, and  no  season  of  the  year  was  void  of  charm  to  her 
poetic  eye.  These  enjoyments  will  be  best  described  in 
her  poem  called  '  A  Reminiscence,"  written  several  years 
afterwards,  which  will  appear  in  its  place.  Here  we  shall, 
for  the  sake  of  illustration,  introduce  her  address  to  the  haw- 
thorn, written  for  her  babes  a  few  weeks  before  her  earthly 
journey  v/as  so  unexpectedly  terminated. 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  47 


*THE    HAWTHORN. 

•  What  faces  bright  with  pleasure  ! 

How  fast  your  footsteps  bound  ! 
Come  show  to  me  your  treasure  ; 

What  have  my  children  found  1 

It  is  the  hawthorn  blossom, 

The  fairest  flower  of  spring  ; 
It  smiles  on  earth's  green  bosom, 

And  nature's  minstrels  sing. 

How  many  joyful  voices, 

Unite  to  bid  it  hail ! 
0  !  how  the  bee  rejoices, 

To  scent  it  in  the  gale. 

The  birds,  in  concert  singing, 

The  insects  in  the  grass, 
The  sunny  waters  ringing 

Low  music  as  they  pass  ; 

Look  at  its  pearly  whiteness, 

Faint  streaked  with  blushing  red  ; 
It  comes,  its  clustered  brightness 

Athwart  the  woods  to  shed. 

0  !  in  my  happy  childhood. 
How  well  I  loved  its  flowers  ; 

1  wandered  through  the  wild  wood, 

And  sought  its  richest  bowers. 

Beside  the  waters  meeting* 

The  fairest  Scotland  knows, 
I  gave  it  joyous  greeting, 

And  wreathed  its  blossomed  snows. 

0  !  that  for  you  some  future  year. 

The  hawthorn  flower  may  shine  ; 
To  whisper  of  a  home  as  dear, 

A  childhood  blest  as  mine.' 

Such  were  her  recollections  of  her  early  home,  which 
revive  the  images  of  the  joyous  group  on  those  bright  days, 
when  they  used  to  stroll,  for  hours  together,  in  the  woods 
of  Floors  and  Newton-Don,  inhaling  with  all  their  faculties, 
whatever  was  refreshing  to  the  senses,  reviving  to  the  spi- 
rits, and  invigorating  to  the  frame.     Sweet  and  grateful 

*  The  confluence  of  the  Teviot  and  Tweed. 


48  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

memory  of  her  childhood,  which  dropt  the  recollection  of 
causes  of  anxiety  or  uneasiness,  if  any  such  there  were, 
and  tenderly  cherished  every  tint  of  beauty,  every  spark- 
ling of  joy,  and  every  throb  of  affection  !  Days  which  it 
enriches  the  mind  to  have  once  enjoyed,  and  whatever  be 
its  future  engagements,  the  memory  of  which  forms  a  part 
of  its  secret  treasures.  The  bard  spoke  truly  of  his  style 
of  pleasures,  when  he  compared  them  to 

*  The  borealis  race, 
Which  flit  ere  we  can  pomt  their  place.' 

But  of  this  higher  style,  how  erroneously  would  it  be  so 
said.  These  delights  which,  in  drinking  in  the  beauty,  the 
variety,  the  lavishness  of  nature,  embrace  an  adoring  view 
of  creating  power  and  benignity,  are  more  like  the  long 
glories  of  a  summer  sunset,  which  fade  not  till  they  are 
merged  in  the  rising  beams  of  a  new  day, — than  the  van- 
ishing graces  of  the  rain-bow  or  the  aurora.  Life  may 
subside — the  mortal  eye  may  close  on  earthly  beauty — but 
it  will  only  be  to  open  on  a  scene  of  surpassing  glories,  of 
which  the  fairest  day  on  earth  forms  but  a  feeble  type. 

In  the  autumn  of  her  first  summer  at  home,  Mobile  staying 
on  the  sea-coast  for  the  purpose  of  bathing,  she  made  an 
excursion  to  St.  Abb's  Head,  in  company  with  her  brother, 
and  some  amiable  young  relatives.  A  jotting,  still  pre- 
served in  her  writing,  of  the  converse  of  that  day,  affords  a 
view  of  the  state  of  her  mind,  and  the  subjects  that  inter- 
ested her. 

'  August 'Z8,  1831. — Went  to  St.  Abb's  Head — a  mag- 
nificent pile  of  rocks — and  dined  on  a  hillock,  with  a  heathy- 
mound  for  a  table.  Fancied  the  rocks  like  cottages  and 
churches.  Talked  of  the  wisdom  of  God  displayed  in  all 
his  works — of  the  elegance  of  his  mind,  displayed  in  the 
formation  of  a  flower,  or  a  caterpillar,  so  perfect  in  all  its 
parts,  yet  so  minute — of  the  variety  of  human  knowledge — 
of  the  pernicious  effect  of  unrestrained  imagination  ;  con- 
trasted the  grand,  but  unreal  poems  of  Byron,  with  the 
sweet  and  natural  strains  of  Cowper, — the  one  unfits  the 
mind  for  real  life,  the  other  depicts  objects  in  their  true 
colours,  imparts  soothing  to  the  heart,  and  animates  to 
duty  :  of  romance  ; — were  some  very  romantic  adventure 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  49 

to  occur  to  a  neighbour,  it  would  not  so  much  excite  our 
imaginations,  as  if  we  read  a  similar  tale  in  the  highly- 
wrought  language  of  a  novelist ; — there  is  in  man  a  tenden- 
cy to  ascribe  to  what  is  not  defined,  something  more  than 
reality  would  authorize  him  to  do.  We  saw  two  sea-birds 
bow  to  the  waves  ;  and  remarked,  how  much  we  might 
learn,  did  we  accustom  ourselves  to  derive  moral  lessons 
from  all  we  see. — From  these  birds  we  might  learn  to  bow 
to  the  difficulties  of  life ;  and  thus  pass  through  them  much 
more  easily  than  we  do,  when  we  struggle  against  the  ap- 
pointments of  our  Father  in  heaven.  Read  Douglas's 
thoughts  on  prayer.  Talked  of  subduing  the  temper  ;  and 
of  the  evil  that  is  often  done  by  Christians  to  their  Master's 
cause,  by  giving  way  to  impatience  ; — of  the  world  as  a 
severe  but  useful  judge  of  Christian  conduct ;  of  Paul,  as 
naturally  of  a  hot  and  hasty  temper  ;  but  as  becoming  meek 
when  he  knew  Christ.  Let  us  begin  when  young,  and 
build  on  that  blessed  foundation.' 

But,  '  when  joy  is  round  us,  grief  is  near,'  as  the  youth- 
ful poetess  sung,  when  grief  was  known  to  her  only  in  theo- 
ry. Now  she  was  to  taste  it  in  its  bitterness.  Her  belov- 
ed father  was  removed  from  our  sight,  before  she  had  en- 
joyed one  year  with  him  at  home.  Mary  had  been  absent 
a  week,  and  was  returning,  in  a  smiling  company  of  cousins, 
from  an  evening  visit  in  Edinburgh,  when  the  solemn  mes- 
sage reached  her,  that  her  father  had  been  translated  in  a 
moment,  without  leave  taken  of  any  of  those  he  loved.  He 
was  gone  where  she  could  not  follow  him,  and  her  tender 
heart  was  oppressed,  and  bowed  beneath  the  stroke. 
Amongst  the  first  expressions  which  betrayed  the  course 
of  her  mind,  w^as  that  stated  in  the  funeral  sermon  preach- 
ed for  herself,  little  more  than  seven  years  after,  by  her 
faithful  friend  and  near  relation,  the  Rev,  Henry  Grey,  of 
Edinburgh  : — '  God  is  now  my  only  Father.'  '  Happy  she, 
who,  in  that  dark  hour,  had  still  a  Father, — one  with  whom 
she  held  solemn  communings,  and  who  will  never  die. 
Her  sympathizing  and  weeping  friends  would  have  hung 
round  and  watched  her  in  that  long  pang  of  wo,  but  she  en- 
treated to  be  left  alone ;  and  when,  after  an  interval,  their 
solicitude  brought  them  back,  they  found  her  still  on  her 
knees,  with  her  arms  extended  on  the  bed.  Her  eyes 
5 


60  M  E  JI  O  I  R      0  F 

were  streaming,  but  her  heart  was  deriving  strength  and 
consolation,  even  under  that  crushing  blow,  from  Him  who 
♦'hath  comforted  his  people,  and  will  have  mercy  on  his 
afflicted ;"  yea,  "  a  mother  may  forget,  yet  will  not  He  for- 
get" those  who  trust  in  him.  Tranquillized  and  sustained 
by  this  divine  strength,  she  returned  to  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing ;  and  it  was  remarked  by  those  who  were  spectators  of 
that  sorrowful  return,  that  no  loud  cry,  or  unseemly  wailing, 
attended  the  meeting  of  the  bereaved  ones  ;  and  that  Mary's 
bearing  was  that  of  one  long  tutored  in  the  school  of  disci- 
pline. She  was  deeply  afflicted,  but  she  held  her  peace. 
A  meek  fellow-sufferer,  she  applied  herself  at  once  to  sus- 
tain as  a  daughter,  and  to  soothe  as  a  sister ;  and  except 
when  the  flood  swelled  so  high  that  it  would  not  be  re- 
strained, and  she  fled  to  solitude,  to  cast  her  care  on  Him 
who  cared  for  her,  she  was  the  stedfast,  considerate,  and 
self-denying  friend  of  all  her  sorrowing  circle.' 

Brief  extracts  from  the  outpourings  of  her  heart  in  let- 
ters, will  best  exhibit  her  filial  love,  her  grief,  her  faith,  and 
her  desires  to  improve  under  the  dispensation. 

'Keho,  April  21,  1832. 

'  My  Beloved  Cousin, — The  last  sad  scene  is  over. 
We  have  watched  the  dear  remains  being  carried  over  the 
ground  where  he  had  so  often  walked  on  errands  of  mercy ; 
and  we  have  to  bless  God  for  tender  mercies  mingled  with 
his  judgments.  Sometimes  I  cannot  realize  the  truth.  I 
can  scarcely  feel  that  my  own  beloved  father,  the  dear  guide 
of  my  youth,  shall  never  more  gaze  on  me,  with  one  of 
those  fond  sweet  looks  that  are  so  deeply  imprinted  on  our 
hearts.  But  oh,  he  is  with  Jesus  !  He  has  received  the 
end  of  his  faith — light,  and  life,  and  love  eternal ;  and  we 
would  not  call  him  back  to  this  dreary  world.  Oh  !  pray, 
as  I  know  you  have  done,  for  my  mother.  *         * 

If  we  may  but  be  enabled  to  lie  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  all 
will  yet  be  well.  *  *  Pray  for  me,  dearest  cou- 
sin, that  the  selfishness  of  my  wicked  heart  may  be  over- 
come, and  that  I  may  be  enabled  to  live  for  her  and  my 
poor  dears. 

*  The  sympathies  of  friends  are  soothing,  and  we  have 
them.     My  own  father  was  glad  he  had  lived  to  see  an- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  61 

Other  spring,  beautiful  with  what  God  has  made  for  man. 
Alas  !  I  in  my  foolishness  thought  he  might  be  spared  for 
many.  Oh!  not  for  him  we  mourn  ; — the  sweet  spirit  he 
manifested  during  the  last  fortnight  of  his  life  was  such, 
that  my  beloved  mamma  says,  it  was  the  happiest  she  ever 
spent  with  him.  Is  not  this  comforting?  He  has  been  ob- 
viously fitting  for  heaven  ;  and  I  trust  his  last  sermons  may 
never  be  forgotten  by  any  of  his  people.  They,  as  well  as 
we,  feel  that  they  have  lost  a  father.  Oh  for  faith  to  say 
with  my  whole  heart,  thy  will  be  done  !  The  book  that  was 
found  by  my  father's  side,  had  a  mark  in  it  at  the  close  of 
a  meditation  on  heaven  ;  and  we  suppose  his  last  moments 
were  thus  employed.  Sweet  employment !  How  like  a 
translation  was  my  departed's  death!  Dearest  cousin,  I 
could  dwell  all  day  on  this  delightful  theme ;  but  there 
are  moments  when  I  feel  I  have  lost  him.  And  oh,  my 
mother  !  God  bless  her.  When  you  come,  you  shall  know 
more  of  what  our  Father  in  heaven  has  done  for  his  rebel- 
lious children.' 

To  a  correspondent  near  London  : — 

'Manse  of  Kelso,  May  11,  1832. 

*  My  very  dear  friend, — The  kind  expression  of  your 
sympathy  has  been  soothing  to  me  at  this  season  of  trial. 
You  have  been  so  lately  tried  with  affliction,  that  you  know 
well  how  to  speak  to  those  who  are  passing  through  the 
deep  waters.  We  have,  indeed,  cause  to  rejoice  while  we 
mourn.  He  who  has  been  taken  from  us,  has  been  remov- 
ed from  a  world  where  a  spirit,  so  tender  as  his,  suffered 
much,  to  the  presence  of  God,  where  he  is  united  to  the 
family  of  the  blessed ;  and  he  shall  never  more  grieve  for 
the  sins  and  the  sufferings  of  his  fellow -men.  None  but 
those  who  knew  him,  can  form  an  idea  of  what  he  did,  and 
what  he  felt  for  others.  We  have  found  large  packets  of 
papers  relating  to  slaves,  chimney-sweeps,  widows  and  or- 
phans, and  to  many  who  never  knew  who  it  was  who  was 
so  actively  engaged  to  do  them  good.  It  is  very  pleasing 
ts  remember  these  things,  and  then  to  think  that  he  is  now 
an  inhabitant  of  a  land  where  it  shall  no  more  be  said,  "  I 
am  sick ;" — that  he  who  spent  so  much  of  his  life  in  en- 


52  M  E  -AI  0  I  R      O  F 

deavouring  to  make  others  happy,  is  now  effectually  remor- 
ed  from  wo.  Yet^I  would  not  appear  to  praise  my  beloved 
father.  He  was  too  deeply  conscious  of  his  own  unwor- 
thiness  to  have  hope  of  eternal  life  in  any  other  way  than 
by  Jesus ;  and  his  hope  built  on  this  foundation  was  strong. 
But,  my  dear  friend,  had  you  known  him  whose  loss  we 
mourn,  you  would  enter  deeply  into  the  feeling  that  he  is 
sheltered.  This  was  a  predominant  feeling  for  the  first 
week.  *  *  This  is  the  season  in  which  my  dear 
papa  was  peculiarly  glad ;  and  the  sunshine  and  spring 
flowers  he  took  such  delight  in,  are  all  here  still,  though 
he  is  gone.  We  check  ourselves  in  feeling  sad,  that  his 
faA^ourite  trees  are  covered  with  blossom,  and  he  does  not 
see  them.  Ah !  we  walk  far  too  much  by  sight.  Had  we 
the  eye  of  faith,  we  should  never  forget  that  he  is  in  a  re- 
gion far  more  beautiful  than  this.  He  has  reached  a  land 
which  is  adorned  with  the  beauty  of  holiness.  Could  we 
realize  the  fulness  of  joy  of  which  he  is  a  partaker,  I  am 
sure  our  sorrow,  now  mixed  with  thankfulness,  would  be 
lost  in  it.  But  He  who  sent  this  affliction,  designs  that  we 
should  feel  it ;  and  it  is  our  prayer  that  we  may  walk  more 
closely  with  him  than  before,  and,  trusting  more  simply  in 
Jesus,  cherish  a  constant  hope  of  being  reunited  to  all  whom 
we  love  "  in  the  Lord,"  and  more  than  all,  of  dwelling  with 
the  Great  Shepherd,  whose  voice  we  have  heard. 

'  All  you  say  of  the  blessedness  of  considering  heaven 
as  our  home,  meets  a  deep  response  in  my  heart.  Let  us, 
my  dear  friend,  walk  as  "  children  of  the  light,"  waiting 
with  humble  trust  for  the  full  disclosure  of  that  light.  If 
our  best  affections  are  garnered  up  in  heaven,  the  summons 
to  leave  this  earth  will  not  be  unwelcome.  But  I  fear  to 
deceive  myself  into  tranquillity,  while  I  have  unmortified 
sin  in  my  heart.  Pray  for  me,  my  dear  friend.  I  think  I 
never  knew  before  that  my  heart  was  so  unclean.  It  was 
indeed  a  trial  to  me  to  be  from  home  when  my  dear  papa 
was  called  away,  though  even  this  was  for  good.  But 
when  I  hear  others  speak  of  his  words  and  his  actions,  so 
full  of  love  for  the  souls  of  men,  during  the  last  precious 
week,  I  cannot  but  grieve  that  I  too  did  not  enjoy  the  pri- 
vilege  of  being  with  him.         *         * 

«I  owe  you  very  many  thanks  for  your  truly  kind  letters, 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  53 

and  for  the  advice  contained  in  them.  May  I  have  grace 
given  me  to  profit  by  this  chastisement.  Earthly  comfort 
would  be  vain ;  but  it  always  does  me  good  to  have  my 
steps  urged  onward  in  the  narrow  path.  I  need  scarcely 
tell  you  that  I  sympathize  deeply  with  you.  I  have  felt 
for  the  last  weeks  more  united  in  affection  to  those  who 
are  sorrowing,  than  to  any  others  ;  and  I  trust  that  our  hea- 
venly Father  is  making  you  feel  that  he  is  indeed  a  satisfy- 
ing portion.' 

'  Manse  of  Kelso,  August  11,  1832. 
i  *  *  The  mountains  looked  quite  beautiful,  and 
I  gazed  on  them  with  great  delight.  My  window  looked 
towards  them,  and  thus  I  could  see  the  moonlight  stream- 
ing on  them  at  night,  and  the  sun  rising  on  them  at  early 
morning.  I  thought  of  my  beloved  father — how  deeply  he 
would  have  enjoyed  all  the  varied  beauties  of  the  scene. 
Ah,  my  dear  cousin !  I  wish  I  could  always  feel  willing  to 
be  separated  from  him,  for  the  remainder  of  my  pilgrimage. 
I  want  more  submission ;  and  I  know  you  will  join  me  in 
praying  for  it.  Last  night  I  dreamt  he  was  sitting  in  his 
own  chair,  and  I  was  beside  him,  and  my  eyes  were  stream- 
ing with  tears,  and  I  was  rejoiced  that  he  was  with  us  again. 
But  it  is  foolish  to  relate  a  dream.  I  want  to  fix  my  affec- 
tions more  on  the  bright  heavenly  land  he  now  inhabits, 
and  on  the  Friend  of  sinners  who,  I  trust,  will  welcome  me, 
and  all  of  us,  thither.  He  welcomes  the  most  unworthy, 
and  this  gives  me  hope.' 

^Berwick,  September  22,  18S2. 
*  *  *  I  know  that  one  subject  of  your  thoughts  has 
been,  our  now  scattered  family.  Ah  !  my  dear  cousin,  we 
have  countless  mercies  to  be  thankful  for ;  only  pray  for  me 
— what  I  feel  I  want — that  a  thankful  heart  may  be  added 
to  all  the  rest.  J — ,  B — ,  and  I,  left  our  home  on  Monday 
morning,  the  17th  ;  and  the  Saturday  night  before,  we  ac- 
companied our  beloved  remaining  parent  to  the  cloister 
where  the  mortal  part  of  my  now  glorified  father  awaits  the 
morning  of  the  resurrection.  There  we  mingled  our  tears ; 
and,  I  trust,  the  prayers  that  came  from  the  heart  entered 
into  the  ears  of  our  Father  in  heaven.  I  felt  it  sweet  to  re- 
5* 


54 


31  E  31  0  I  R      OF 


gard  Him  as  my  reconciled  Father,  and  to  look  forward  to 
the  period  that  shall  re-imite  us  to  him  we  have  loved  and 
parted  from.  Mr.  Baird  preached  on  Sabbath.  We  felt 
the  afternoon  sermon  very  consoling.  The  subject  was, 
"All  things  are  yours;"  and  he  showed,  that  not  only  life 
and  prosperity  are  the  Christian's,  but  also,  sickness,  sor- 
row, and  death,  inasmuch  as  they  wean  his  heart  from 
earth,  and  all  work  together  to  fit  his  spirit  for  glory.  We 
felt  that  this  trying  season  would  indeed  be  ours,  if  we 
made  use  of  it,  to  give  our  hearts  more  entirely  to  God.  In 
the  evening  four  dear  Christian  friends  joined  us,  and  Archy 
Murray*  came  and  conducted  family  worship.  Thus  pass- 
ed our  last  Sabbath  in  Kelso  ;  and  the  next  morning  we 
were  up  betimes,  and  concluded  our  little  arrangements,  and 
then  I  went  alone  to  take  leave  of  several  spots  on  the  pre- 
mises, and  at  eight  left  the  once  cheerful  abode,  a  scene  of 
bustle,  confusion,  and  desolation.' 

One  occupation  of  the  last  Sabbath  in  Kelso,  is  mention- 
ed in  '  The  Orphan's  Stay,'  an  article  which  Mary  Lundie 
contributed  to  Mr.  Ellis's  Missionary  Annual  for  1835,  con- 
taining the  history  of  a  young  woman,  who  had  been  pre- 
served through  many  years  of  peril  and  temptation,  and  was 
left  on  her  death-bed,  by  her  affectionate  visiter,  peace- 
fully looking  for,  and  hastening  unto  the  coming  of  her 
Lord.  From  this  elegant  and  pious  biographical  sketch,  a 
sentence  or  two  will  describe  her  last  visit ;  but,  before  in- 
troducing that,  one  of  the  early  paragraphs  may  be  accepta- 
ble, as  descriptive  not  only  of  the  feelings  of  the  fatherless 
in  general,  but  of  her  own  deep  emotions  on  that  subject, 
ever  to  her  a  tender  one  : — 

'  But  it  is  not  outward  dangers  and  necessities  alone, 
that  make  the  orphan  the  special  object  of  the  care  of  God. 
He  knows  the  heart  of  the  fatherless, — the  inward  sicken- 
ing of  him  who  feels  he  has  lost,  what  time  cannot  replace 
— who  longs  for  the  advice  and  tenderness  of  a  parent — 
and  weeps  to  find  himself  alone.  To  him  the  promises  are 
as  showers  to  the  parched  grass  ;  turning  his  eager  gaze 
from  cisterns  that  fail,  and  refreshing  his  soul ;  for  there  is 
something  in  each  of  them  suited  to  his  wants.     There  is 

*  Now  a  missionary  in  Tutuila,  Samoan  Islands. 


MARY      LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  55 

no  burden  that  oppresses  his  heart, — no  regret  for  the  past, 
— no  anxious  fear  of  the  future, — that  is  not  met  by  some 
word  of  benign  consolation.  God  delights  to  be  reminded 
of  the  mercy  He  has  proffered,  and  does  not  weary  of  the 
orphan's  cry ;  and  this  condescending  love  should  raise  our 
gratitude  higher  than  even  the  stupendous  evidences  of 
creative  might.  The  Psalmist  felt  it  so,  when  he  said, 
"  Extol  Him  that  rideth  upon  the  heavens,  by  his  name  Jah. 
A  father  of  the  fatherless,  and  a  judge  of  the  widows,  is 
God  in  his  holy  habitation."  *  *  * 

'  I  left  the  neighbourhood  before  her  sufferings  closed. 
It  was  on  a  Sabbath  evening  that  I  took  leave  of  my  de- 
clining friend.  I  found  her  seated  in  a  large  chair,  sup- 
ported by  pillows,  and  looking  as  if  all  her  strength  was 
gone,  yet  so  happy,  that  I  could  compare  her  to  nothing  but 
a  feeble  and  confiding  child,  who  entrusts  himself  without 
fear  to  a  parent,  whose  love  he  has  never  thought  of  doubt- 
ing. Her  smile  of  welcome  was  more  sad  than  usual,  for 
she  knew  that  we  should  meet  no  more  on  earth.  She 
spoke  of  the  quiet  spot  in  the  church-yard,  that  would  soon 
cover  all  that  remained  of  her ;  and  of  the  hope  full  of  im- 
mortality that  kept  her  heart  from  sinking.  She  pointed 
me,  too,  to  the  gathering-place  of  the  church  of  the  Re- 
deemer, which  was  opening  to  receive  her,  and  to  the  short 
and  quickly  traversed  space  that  might  divide  me  from  it. 
One  of  the  last  rays  of  the  evening  sun  darted  into  the 
room,  and  seemed  to  afford  an  earnest  of  that  blessed  meet- 
ing. Our  sorrow  was  mingled  with  lively  hope,  and  we 
were  glad  that  the  sacred  day  was  that  on  which  we  must 
part,  till  the  dawning  of  a  Sabbath  without  end.  She  ex- 
pressed a  desire  that,  as  we  had  often  united  in  prayer,  we 
should  continue  to  maintain  this  valued  fellowship,  by  pray- 
ing for  each  other  at  a  stated  hour  of  each  day  that  was 
added  to  her  life.  This  agreement  she  never  forgot.  Some 
one  entered  the  room,  and  I  bid  my  sister  in  Jesus  farewell, 
and  saw  her  no  more.'* 

This  was  the  *  dear  Jeany  Ross,'  alluded  to  in  a  letter 
already  quoted.     She  finished  her  weary  journey  shortly 

*  Missionary  Annual,  p.  183. 


56 


MEMOIR      OF 


afterwards,  saying  with  her  last  sigh,  *  He  that  cometh  unto 
me  I  will  in  no  wise  cast  out.'  And  now,  in  that  glorious 
region  unexplored  by  living  man,  they  who  by  concert  pray- 
ed for  each  other  daily  for  a  time  on  earth,  are  united  in  a 
chorus  of  ceaseless  praise  : — '  Worthy  is  the  Lamb  that 
was  slain.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  57 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STUDIES  AND  OCCUPATIONS  IN  EDINBURGH. 

From  Berwick  she  conveyed  to  their  new  home  in  Edin- 
burgh, the  young  brother  and  sister  of  whom  she  had  charge. 
In  common  with  her  family,  she  drooped  like  a  transplanted 
tree,  and  was  rather  disposed  to  be  occupied  about  the  past, 
than  to  feel  capable  of  exertion  in  her  new  scene.  Very 
few  letters  seem  to  have  been  written  during  that  year. 
Amongst  the  few  within  reach,  there  are  constant  allusions 
to  her  birth-place  and  her  parent ;  unmurmuring,  but  touch- 
ing regrets,  which  belonged  to  the  tenacity  and  tenderness 
of  her  nature,  and  which  are  not  incompatible  with  submis- 
sion to  the  Divine  dispensations.  To  her  maternal  friend 
in  London,  she  mentioned  the  visitation  of  cholera,  which 
spread  terror  and  grief  through  Kelso,  during  the  autumn 
of  that  year,  and  said,  '  A  day  of  fasting  was  held,  to  i^n- 
plore  the  removal  of  the  pestilence.  I  do  hope  the  town 
may  derive  lasting  benefit  from  this  visitation.  Had  dear 
papa  been  in  this  vale  of  tears,  how  lively  an  interest  would 
he  have  taken  in  the  sufferings  of  his  people  !  I  can  some- 
times rejoice  that  he  can  no  more  be  subjected  to  the  sor- 
rows that  are,  in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  the  portion  of 
every  child  of  Adam.  Ah  !  my  dear  friend,  it  is  sweet  to 
think  that,  whatever  may  be  our  alternations  of  pain  and 
pleasure,  he  is  in  possession  of  the  happiness  that  arises 
from  dwelling  with,  and  being  like  his  Saviour.  I  some- 
times pause  and  ask  myself,  what  improvement  has  resulted 
from  all  our  heavenly  Father's  dealings  with  us  during  the 
past  months  ?  It  has  been  small  indeed  ;  but  He  who  sent 
sorrow  has,  I  trust,  sent  a  blessing  with  it,  and  taught  us 
more,  that  He  himself  is  the  source  of  all  real  enjoyment, 
and  that  without  His  presence  no  peace  can  be  found.  We 
often  receive  messages  from  our  poor  and  sick  friends,  some  of 
whom  will  probably  soon  be  removed  to  a  better  world.  We 
expect  to-morrow  to  be  partakers  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  and 


68  MEMOIR     OF 

you  will  believe  our  thoughts  have  been  carried  back  to  the 
last  time  when  our  departed  one  was  with  us  at  the  table. 
But  this  is  not  enough  ; — we  must  also  look  forward  to  the 
land  where  we  shall  again  unite  in  praising  our  Saviour's 
love.'  * 

While  she  remained  at  Berwick,  she  wrote  the  first 
pages  of  a  Diary.  From  this  sacred  document  it  is  impos- 
sible to  quote  so  plentifully  as  it  would  be  for  edification  to 
do  ;  for  till  the  hand  was  cold  that  used  to  turn  the  key 
upon  it,  no  second  eye  had  ever  rested  on  it ;  and  it  is  ob- 
vious, from  various  expressions  which  it  contains,  that  she 
designed  it  entirely  for  her  own  private  inspection  ;  yet 
every  page  proves  the  truth  of  what  was  said  in  her  funeral 
sermon, — *  The  principle  and  spring  of  her  actions  lay  in 
the  conscience  and  in  the  heart.  Hers  was  that  genuine 
inwrought  piety,  which  is  primarily  and  chiefly  conversant 
with  Him  who  looks  to  the  heart, — which  labours  to  have 
the  foundation  deeply  laid,  so  as  to  afford  a  secure  support 
for  the  superstructure, — which  seeks  not  observation,  or 
rather  dreads  it, — yet  which  shuns  not  the  acknowledgment 
of  the  truth,  and  the  confession  of  the  Saviour,  nor  swerves 
from  the  path  of  duty,  to  escape  either  censure  or  scorn.' 

Diary. — '  Benvick,  Sabbath  morning,  Sept.  23,  1832. — 
*  I  have  sometimes  regretted  that  seasons  of  peculiar  en- 
couragement or  depression  in  the  Christian  warfare,  ha^ve 
been  permitted  to-pass  away  unrecorded  ;  for,  though  some 
impression  of  such  seasons  may  be  retained,  yet  the  return- 
ing engagements  of  life,  whether  in  the  form  of  attractions 
or  of  cares,  combine  with  my  own  evil  heart  to  render  it 
but  a  faint  one.  Perhaps  were  I,  in  a  little  while,  to  see 
in  writing  what  had  been  the  exercises  of  my  mind,  I  should 
be  surprised  and  ashamed  at  the  quick  change  in  the  cur- 
rent of  my  thoughts.  I  find  it  difficult  to  live,  every  day 
and  every  hour,  as  in  the  presence  of  God,  though  I  know 
I  cannot  be  completely  happy  till  I  can  thus  live.  I  know 
perfection  does  not  flourish  on  earth,  yet  how  many  of  the 
dear  people  of  God  have  given  themselves,  soul,  body,  and 
spirit,  to  him  !  and  how  invariably  have  they  found  their 
covenant  God  faithful  to  his  promise,  "  to  be  a  Father  to 
them,  and  to  make  them  his  sons  and  daughters  !"     O  that 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  59 

I  may  be  enabled  to  follow  in  their  bright  tracli  !  What  a 
happy  being  should  I  be,  could  I,  like  them,  forsake  all,  and 
follow  Jesus  !  He  is  my  Saviour — He  has  given  his  very 
life  for  me.  How  can  I,  then,  count  any  thing  dear  that 
may  come  between  my  soul  and  him  ?  I  do  trust  that  He 
who  has  given  me  the  love  I  feel  towards  him,  and  taught 
me  to  wish  for  more,  will  satisfy  that  wish,  and  increase 
my  spiritual  appetite,  that  I  may  be  capable  of  receivino- 
abundantly  that  love  which  is  to  the  thirsty  spirit  like  streams 
in  the  desert.  I  hope  that,  by  sometimes  writing  down  my 
different  states  of  heart,  I  may  be  assisted  in  judging  of  my 
progress  in  the  way  to  Zion.  Yet  I  fear  that  snares  en- 
compass  me,  even  in  this  trifling  effort.  Let  me  then  ask 
God  to  make  me  faithful  to  myself, — to  teach  me  to  search 
the  depths  of  my  sinfulness,  and  not  to  be  afraid  to  discover 
its  extent.  Let  me  never  write  any  thing  concerning  my- 
self that  is  inconsistent  with  the  strictest  truth.  Let  me 
never  be  induced  to  flatter  myself,  and  gloss  over  the  true 
state  of  my  mind.  And  may  my  Lord  help  me  to  be  his 
child,  and  make  this  a  means  of  rendering  me  more  careful 
to  cast  out  what  offends  him,  and  to  delight  to  do  his  will.' 

Such  was  her  object  in  keeping  a  diary,  and  she  seems 
to  have  been  enabled  to  fulfil  it  most  strictly,  in  the  simple 
truth  with  which  she  states  her  faults,  and  searches  her 
motives,  during  the  six  years  in  which  she  occasionally  re- 
sorted to  it. 

Soon  after  settling  in  Edinburgh,  she  took  advantage  of 
the  plentiful  means  of  mental  culture  which  the  place  af- 
fords,  and  became  absorbed  in  study,  in  concert  with  many 
others  about  her  own  age,  some  of  whom  were  generous 
rivals  in  various  objects  of  competition,  and  two  at  least 
became  sincerely  attached  friends  for  life.  Numerous  es- 
says remain,  evidences  of  her  industry,  and  advancing  store 
of  knowledge,  and  increased  power  of  thinking.  Such 
occupation  always  enlivened  and  cheered  her  spirits.  She 
never  seemed  so  happy  as  when  put  upon  the  exercise  of 
her  faculties  in  retirement.  In  a  letter,  written  about  this 
time,  she  said, — '  We  are  very  closely  occupied  at  pre- 
sent, writing  an  essay  on  "  the  best  training  for  female  in- 
tellect,"— rather  a  difficult  subject.  You  have  heard  of 
people   who    cry,    "  Scraps   thankfully  received," — I  am 


60  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

somewhat  in  their  case  ;  and  Mnts  thankfully  received  is 
my  motto.     Will  you  giv^e  me  some  V 

However  earnestly  engaged  in  other  pursuits,  spiritual 
progress  lay  nearest  her  heart ;  and  by-and-by,  the  friends 
who  were  accustomed  to  meet  and  read  history,  or  prepare 
English  compositions  with  her,  sought  to  sanctify  their  other 
engagements,  by  meeting  once  in  the  week,  for  reading  the 
Scriptures  and  prayer.  In  unison  with  such  elevating  com- 
munings was  the  increase  of  benevolence  to  all  the  human 
race.  Her  diary  exhibits  many  examples  of  ardent  phi- 
lanthropy, generally  terminating  in  purposes  of  action,  as 
well  as  of  devotion.  The  following  extract  may  reveal,  to 
the  friends  of  the  negro,  by  what  secret  ministrations  they 
have  been  enabled  to  persevere,  and  have  not  fainted  in  a 
prolonged  course  of  trial  and  discouragement :  for  doubtless 
many  a  faithful  soul,  that  could  neither  speak  in  the  senate 
nor  plead  on  the  platform — that  had  neither  silver,  gold,  nor 
influence — did,  like  Mary  Lundie,  bear  the  wrongs  of  those 
suffering  tribes,  and  that  continent  in  ruins,  and  the  strength, 
zeal,  and  perseverance  of  their  friends,  on  their  hearts,  to 
the  footstool  of  Mercy. 

'  March  22,  1833. — We  have  been  lately  much  interest- 
ed in  the  emancipation  of  slaves.  I  never  heard  eloquence 
more  overpowering  than  that  of  George  Thompson.  I  am 
most  thankful  that  he  has  been  raised  up.  O  that  the  mea- 
sure, soon  to  be  proposed  in  Parliament,  may  be  efl^ectual ! 
What  can  /  do  for  my  oppressed  brethren  ?  Only  one 
thing — pray  for  them.  This  will  be  regarded  on  high. 
How  sweet  it  is  to  be  able  to  tell  our  desires  to  God,  and 
to  know  that,  though  our  influence  among  men  may  be  next 
to  nothing,  He  will  not  despise  our  cry.  Let  me  then  bear 
poor  Africa  on  my  heart,  and  seek  a  speedy  emancipation 
for  her  sons,  not  only  from  the  rod  of  the  oppressor,  but 
from  the  bonds  of  iniquity.  Long  have  they  dwelt  in  a 
night  of  darkness  and  sighing,  but  their  cry  has  entered  into 
the  ears  of  the  Lord  of  Sabaoth.  O  may  they  now  be  res- 
cued  by  his  power  !' 

Diary. — '  March, — I  have  been  thinking  of  the  events  of 
last  spring.  It  is  nearly  a  year  since  my  beloved  father's 
death,  and  all  this  time  he  has  been  praising  his  Saviour 
with  fulness  of  joy,  while  we  have  still  been  occupied  with 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  61 

the  fleeting  things  of  time.  Has  this  affliction  given  me  an 
abiding  sense  of  the  instability  of  earthly  joys,  and  made 
me  long  more  for  that  purer  delight,  which  is  found  in  see- 
ing the  Lord  face  to  face  ?  Has  it  made  me  walk  more 
circumspectly,  and  devote  myself  more  completely  to  my 
God  ?  Has  it  made  me  feel  the  value  of  that  blood,  which 
has  washed  away  sin,  and  taken  the  sting  from  death?  O  ! 
I  thought  at  first  that  I  could  never  more  fancy  this  world 
my  home,  nor  forget  how  fast  it  must  fade  from  my  view; 
but  sometimes  I  have  forgotten  this.  How  lovely  heaven 
would  appear,  did  I  always  think  of  it  as  my  resting-place, 
and  employ  my  thoughts  on  what  would  prepare  me  for 
going  there  !  My  heavenly  Father  sees  all  my  sins,  and 
the  coldness  of  my  heart — my  readiness  to  forget  the  Rock 
whence  I  was  hewn,  and  to  live  and  act  as  if  my  daily  du- 
ties might  be  performed  without  his  aid,  or  a  reference  to 
his  glory.  O  !  that  he  may  help  me  to  live  to  him,  to  watch 
my  heart,  and  to  be  so  humbled  by  my  sins,  as  to  receive 
gladly  my  Saviour's  offers  of  guidance,  and  to  feel  that 
"  without  him  I  cannot  go."  ' 

*  April  28th. — I  was  nineteen  two  days  ago.  How  long 
I  have  lived  to  little  purpose  ;  I  am  so  ready  to  miss  op- 
portunities of  doing  good,  and  to  make  some  excuse  to  my- 
self for  it !  Well !  this  year  of  my  life  is  gone  ;  but  let  me 
try  every  day  that  is  added  to  my  time,  to  serve  God  my- 
self, and  seek  to  make  others  do  so  too.     I  feel  that  I  have 

not  tried  as  I  ought,  to  be  useful  to  E .*     Conscience 

has  often  told  me  this,  and  yet  I  have  waited  for  a  "  con- 
venient season."  Surely  this  is  one,  for  the  communion 
is  drawing  near,  and  she  is  not  yet  a  candidate  for  admis- 
sion. Let  me,  then,  no  longer  listen  to  suggestions  for  de- 
lay, but,  in  our  walks,  turn  conversation  heavenward,  as 
those  should  do,  who  hope  to  win  a  lasting  home  there.  I 
have  also  neglected,  far  too  much,  the  endeavour  to  make 
my  dear  little  sister  seek  her  Saviour,  and  I  know  that  my 
conduct  has  been  at  times  such  as  did  not  become  a  disci- 
ple of  Christ ;  therefore,  I  fear  I  have  injured  her,  by  mak- 
ing  her  think  that  it  is  not  so  requisite  to  walk  with  unspot- 
ted garments.     O  !  may  I  be  enabled,  in  patience,  to  pos- 

*  One  of  her  fellow-students. 


62  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

sess  my  soul, — to  behave  wisely  to  her,  and,  both  by  pre- 
cept and  example,  win  her  to  my  Shepherd.  I  have  been 
looking  back  on  the  way  by  which  he  hath  led  us.  His 
dispensations  have  come  in  love  and  wisdom.  Boston 
says,  if  the  wood  designed  for  the  building  were  able  to 
choose,  very  likely  no  iron  instrument  should  come  upon 
it ;  but,  in  this  case,  it  would  never  be  lit  to  form  part  of 
the  buildmg.  So  we,  if  left  to  choose,  might  prefer  to  be 
without  sorrow  ;  but  should  we  then,  unhumbled  and  full  of 
earthly  prosperity,  be  fit  for  heaven  ?  Happily,  we  are  not 
left  to  choose,  and  God  sends  sorrow  to  make  us  like  our 
Saviour.  It  is  well — he  comforts  us — he  hath  done  all 
things  well.  May  I  hope,  then,  that  I  am  more  firmly  root- 
ed  and  grounded  in  love  ?  I  am  vile,  but  I  have  known  and 
believed  the  love  that  God  hath  to  me  ;  and,  since  he  has 
taught  me  this,  he  will  teach  me  more.  O  !  to  be  like  my 
Saviour,  and  part  with  what  he  does  not  approve — to  see, 
in  its  true  light,  the  insufficiency  of  the  creature — and  to 
say,  from  my  heart,  "  Whom  have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ? 
and  there  is  none  on  earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee  !"  I 
must  go  and  read  with  the  boys,  and  let  me  not  forget  both 
to  pray  and  to  try  to  do  them  good.' 

Diary. — '  June  9. — I  think  that,  during  the  last  six 
weeks,  while  my  dear  friends  have  been  in  town,  I  have 
gone  out  too  much,  and  mamma  has  felt  the  want  of  one 
who  could  sympathize  in  her  feelings.  This  pains  me  to 
the  quick,  and  I  can  hardly  write  for  tears.  O  !  my  hea- 
venly Father,  when  shall  I  be  wise  ?  When  shall  I  faith- 
fully do  my  duty  to  her,  and  all  of  them  ?  Not  till  I  have 
left  off  considering  self,  and  thought  only  of  glorifying  thee, 
by  being  useful.  *  *  *  When  we  were  in  our  own 
home,  and  my  beloved  father  was  with  us,  it  was  not  thus. 
Dear  mamma  has  lost  what  she  cannot  regain,  and  no  won- 
der she  feels  sad  ;  and  when  she  looks  at  me,  feels  the  con- 
trast sadder  still.  Yet  surely  I,  loving  her  as  I  do,  better 
than  any  thing  in  this  world,  ought  to  be  a  comfort  and  help 
to  her,  and  I  wish  and  pray  to  be  so.  0  God  !  I  am  igno- 
rant ;  wilt  thou  make  me  holy  ?  and  let  me  walk  softly,  lest 
I  lose  the  little  spark  of  grace  which  I  trust  thou  hast  kin- 
dled in  me.  I  want  to  learn  prompt  obedience.  When  I 
was  a  little  child,  I  never  thought  I  knew  as  well  as  mam- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  63 

ma ;  but  now  I  at  times  feel  inclined  to  take  my  own  way. 
Why  should  I  be  so  proud  1  Let  me  learn  humility  ;  this 
is  my  best  wisdom.  My  God  puts  me  precisely  in  the  cir- 
cumstances where  my  corruption  shall  be  shown  me  ;  and 
I  should  be  thankful  for  it !  Ah  !  how  unlike  the  children 
of  heaven,  are  the  thoughts  that  fill  my  heart.  I  want  to 
glow  with  love  to  all,  so  that  I  shall  forget  myself,  and  be 
happy  if  I  can,  in  any  degree,  make  them  so.  And  why 
should  this  appear  so  difficult  ?  I  have  a  Friend  on  high, 
who  knows  my  vileness  and  weakness,  and  will  forgive  me, 
and  help  me  too.  He  renews  his  forgiveness  every  day. 
May  I  live  near  to  him,  and  may  every  thorn  that  pricks 
me,  make  me  look  up  to  the  beautiful  city,  where  is  a  tree 
of  life  without  a  thorn,  and  a  morning  without  a  cloud !' 

This  extract  is  given  as  an  evidence  of  her  extreme  ten- 
derness, both  of  conscience  and  of  affection.  The  young 
heart  is  not  easily  convinced,  that  an  affliction  is  irreparable, 
and  to  be  endured  with  what  meekness  and  faith  may  be 
bestowed.  If  she  enjoyed  herself  with  friends  of  her  age 
and  character,  and  returning  met  the  same  wan,  enduring 
countenance  that  she  had  left,  she  reproached  herself,  as  if 
she  ought  to  have  been  doing  something  to  alleviate  feelings 
which  were  quite  beyond  her  reach  ;  and  because  her 
ardent  affection  would-  have  rendered  it  the  joy  of  her  life 
to  fill  that  place,  which  the  Divine  dispensation  had  made 
empty,  when  she  found  that  was  not  within  her  power,  she 
accused  her  own  natural  cheerfulness,  as  if  its  indulgence 
were  selfish. 

*  July  1. — Dr.  R --'s  two  days'  visit  has  been  pleasant. 

He  gives  a  useful  turn  to  conversation,  and  has  been  a  suc- 
cessful minister.  Some  instances  that  he  related,  of  re- 
markable conversions,  showed  me  the  great  efficacy  of  faith 
and  prayer.  He  asks  and  expectS'  great  blessings,  and  he 
receives  them.  It  is  strange,  that,  when  I  am  asking  for 
quickening  grace  for  myself,  or  conversion  for  those  I  love, 
I  often  think  of  the  answer  as  a  distant  thing,  and  do  not 
seem  to  know  that  He  who  hears  me  is  ready  to  give  far 
higher  things  than  I  have  ever  asked.  If  I  remember  this, 
my  prayers  will  be  much  quickened.  I  fear  to  deceive 
myself  by  kneeling  with  a  wavering  heart.  My  dear  uncle 
preached  yesterday  on  the  evil  of  wavering.     May  the  Lorcjr 


64  M  E  31  0  I  R     O  F 

help  me  to  "  ask  in  faith."     Dr.  R told  us  much  of  the 

tenets  of  the  Rowites,  which  I  heard  with  deep  interest.  It 
is  mysterious  that  the  flower  of  the  church  should  thus  be 
suffered  to  wander.  May  this  make  me  very  watchful  over 
myself.  O  !  may  I  be  thankful  that,  from  my  infancy,  I 
have  been  taught  the  "good  old  way,"  and  while  I  keep 
clear  of  those  errors,  may  I  be  preserved  from  indifference, 
that  clogs  and  benumbs  the  soul.' 

^  July  14. — Ruihwell. — I  arrived  on  Friday,  and  have 
been  charmed  with  the  beauty  of  the  grounds,  and  cheered 
by  the  kindness  of  my  friends.  The  Sabbath  has  come, 
and  I  am  once  more  spending  that  sacred  day  in  the  coun- 
try. The  scene  is  bright  and  calm,  and  all  nature  seems 
to  praise  Him  to  whom  it  owes  its  being.  Strange  that  my 
heart  should  be  so  out  of  tune,  so  little  in  unison  with  this 
sweet  and  universal  concert  ! — I  have  not,  of  late,  made 
proper  use  of  my  Sabbaths.  At  Kelso,  my  class,  and  the 
l3eautiful  scene  1  delighted  to  look  upon  from  my  attic,  gave 
elasticity  to  my  spirits,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  a  happy  thing 
to  seek  to  be  useful,  and  to  bless  the  Giver  of  so  many 
pleasant  gifts.  But  in  Edinburgh,  I  felt  at  first  such  de- 
privations so  much,  that  a  feeling  of  discomfort — discon- 
tent, I  fear — stole  on  me,  and  made  many  moments  dark, 
which  might  have  been  very  precious.  O  how  sinful  was 
this  !  1  felt  it  so  at  times,  and  strove  against  it.  My  God  ! 
may  1  live  on  thy  word,  and  then  I  shall  not  be  so  unpre- 
pared to  lay  hold  on  thy  blessings  as  they  flow  !  1  have 
not  felt  the  ordinances  of  God's  house  very  precious,  nor 
been  able  to  say,  *'  How  amiable  are  thy  tabernacles  !''  and, 
worse  than  all,  I  have  not  grieved  at  this.  I  know  these 
things  are  so,  but  I  do  not  rouse  myself  to  make  them  other- 
wise. This  verse  comforts  me,  "  He  who  hath  delivered 
my  soul  from  death,  will  he  not  deliver  my  feet  from  fall- 
ing ?"  Yes,  he  will.  May  I  not  quench  his  Spirit.  I 
feel  something  of  my  old  buoyancy  of  spirit.  But  this  is 
no  proof  of  nearness  to  God,  for  while  I  have  been  sitting 
in  the  cottage  porch,  trying  to  raise  my  heart  to  him,  all 
sorts  of  foolish  thoughts  have  passed  through  my  mind.  I 
am  sin — all  sin.  But  surely  the  grace  of  God,  which  is 
sufficient  for  me,  should  ere  this  have  been  exerting  a 
stronger  power  in  my  soul.    My  days,  this  week,  have  beeu 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  65 

idly  spent,  for  I  have  not  sought  God  in  my  occupations  ; 
and  no  wonder  I  am  all  wrong  to-day.  I  have  been  con- 
sidering how  I  could  do  good  to  others,  and  have  not  at- 
tended to  the  first  step  to  it — watchfulness  over  myself. 
Example  does  more  than  any  thing,  and  I  can  only  be  made 
to  walk  uprightly  by  keeping  close  to  God.  O  God  !  whom 
I  have  so  often  vowed  to  serve,  and  so  often  forgotten,  pity 
and  help  me  !  Thou  art  Love,  and  wilt  not  cast  me  off.  I 
am  thine — save  me.  Do  with  me  whatever  thou  wilt ;  but 
do  not  let  me  forget  thee  any  more.  Leave  me  not,  or  I 
shall  perish.     Thou  art  God — Oh  !  rule  in  my  heart.' 

^  July  21. — Another  week  has  fled,  and  I  have  been 
strangely  tossed  in  spirit.  Now  that  is  passed — but  O  ! 
how  much  sin  has  there  been  in  all  parts  of  my  conduct. 
I  once  thought  of  writing  it  down — but  I  am  not  sure  that 
it  would  be  to  profit.  I  have  had  pain  in  my  spirit,  and 
not  sought  relief  in  God.  I  knew  not  that  I  had  so  much 
folly  about  me,  but  every  new  situation  in  which  I  am 
placed  brings  out  new  sins.  May  God  lead  me  out  of 
temptation. — Oh  may  1  be  quite  willing  to  be  so  led.  He 
knoweth  what  is  for  my  good,  and  bringeth  good  out  of 
evil.  If  I  lived  on  "  manna,"  I  should  not  stop  for  husks.' 
'July  25. — Last  night  we  went  to  the  high  part  of  the 
road  to  see  the  English  coast,  which  was  sparkling  in  sun- 
shine, while  passing  clouds  cast  deep  shadows  on  parts  of 
it.  The  cliffs  stood  out  in  beautiful  relief,  and  the  summit 
of  Helvellyn  appeared  at  a  distance  beyond  Skiddaw.  It 
was  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten,  and  excites  a  longing  to 
be  a  hermit  on  the  side  of  one  of  those  peaceful  hills.  But 
storm  and  mist  shroud  them  sometimes,  and  they  are  not 
often  so  lovely  as  then  they  were.  Let  them  act  on  me  as 
a  similar  scene  did  on  James  Montgomery,  "  yonder  sum- 
mits far  away,"  &c., — and  "  beyond  the  tomb,"  let  me  look 
for  perfect  peace.' 

^July  26. — The  fast  day.  I  have  been  try'mg  to  seek 
my  God.  "  My  best  desires  are  faint  and  few,"  but  He 
will  help  me.  I  have  to  mourn  for  half-heartedness.  This 
was  my  complaint  when  I  wrote  the  first  sentence  in  this 
book  ;  it  is  so  still.  Present  things  have  far  too  great  a 
hold  on  me,  and  eternal  things  dwindle  from  my  view.  But 
God  is  showing  me  that  all  below  is  vanity,  and  I  seem  less 
6* 


66 


MEMOIR     OF 


and  less  to  look  for  perfect  happiness  on  earth.  I  have 
been  in  varied  circumstances,  and  each  had  its  peculiar 
trials,  and  in  all  I  have  found  my  only  help  in  God.  But 
oh,  how  much  more  hopefully  can  I  seek  for  peace  and 
comfort  when  the  trial  is  of  His  sending,  than  when  it  is 
of  my  own  making  !  He  sees  my  heart  and  will  empty  the 
vanity  out  of  it,  and  make  me  such  as  he  approveth.  I 
want  to  be  all  his  own.  Often  I  blame  my  actions,  and 
deeply  too,  when  the  only  way  to  correct  them  is  to  purify 
the  source.  I  have  not  truly  sought  that  God  should  direct 
my  daily  steps.  I  have  lived  away  from  him,  and  no  won- 
der that  I  have  offended  him.  I  have  not  been  instant  in 
prayer.  I  have  been  called  by  his  name,  while  I  obeyed 
not  his  law.  He  says,  "return  and  I  will  heal  your  back- 
slidings  "  IMay  I  do  so  this  very  day — and  as,  w^hen  Daniel 
confessed,  Gabriel  flew  swiftly  to  him  with  a  message  of 
mercy,  may  my  Father  pardon  me,  and  let  me  feel  myself 
pardoned,  that  I  may  henceforth  walk  in  newness  of  life. 
How  precious  is  Christ !  AVhen  I  think  of  my  sins,  he  is 
my  only  hope,  and  worth  all  the  universe.  May  I  love  him 
more,  not  in  name  only,  but  in  deed  and  in  truth.' 

Such  were  a  portion  of  her  fast  day  exercises,  in  the 
country,  surrounded  by  Christian  friends,  whose  converse 
might  have  prevented  the  depth  of  her  heart-searchings, 
had  she  not  been  resolved  on  converse  with  God.  About 
this  period,  the  germ  of  that  attachment  was  formed,  which 
gave  a  bent  to  the  remainder  of  her  life.  Acting  as  a  dis- 
turbing force,  on  the  divine  love  which  was  the  master  at- 
traction of  her  heart,  it  distressed  and  unsettled  her ;  and 
explains  the  quarrel  she  had  against  herself  in  this  extract, 
and  also  in  the  following  : — '  I  have  every  thing  here  to 
make  me  happy  ;  but  what  avails  it,  when  the  mind  is  dis- 
ordered ?  May  I  act  conscientiously  !  Oh,  that  I  could  live 
as  seeing  Him  who  is  invisible.  Why  should  I  write  this 
wish,  and  yet  not  pray  with  all  my  heart  that  it  may  be 
realized.  Help  me,  my  King.  Save  from  sin  one  who  is 
ransomed  by  the  blood  of  thy  Son.'  Again,  a  few  days 
after,  she  writes,  '  Were  I  sure  that  what  I  do  meets  with 
my  Lord's  approval,  I  should  be  happy.  Sin  is  mixed  with 
every  thing.  May  I  learn  to  prove  ray  heart  and  reins. 
The  Lord  weigheth  the  spirit  and  teacheth  us  to  weigh  our 


MARY     L  U  N  D  I  E     DUNCAN.  67 

own  too.  Why  then  is  it  that  I  so  little  seek  his  guidance  ? 
Peace  is  far  from  the  heart  that  seeks  it  not  at  his  throne.' 
The  next  extract,  written  when  she  returned  home,  and 
happened  to  pass  a  few  days  there  alone,  shows  the  con- 
tinuance of  the  same  internal  conflict. 

*  September  1 . — I  am  yet  more  puzzled  about  the  state  of 
my  feelings.  May  God  direct  me,  and  forgive  me  !  I  have 
a  weight  at  my  heart,  when  I  view  it  in  some  lights.  Let 
my  mouth  be  stopped,  and  vanity  and  self-indulgence  never 
more  be  given  way  to.  I  am  solitary,  may  I  use  my  time 
to  probe  my  heart,  and,  above  all,  to  seek  the  Lord,  whom 
I  have  lately  too  much  forgotten.'  '  Sejdcmher  8. — I  have 
been  trying  to  draw  nigh  to  God,  but  find  it  more  difficult 
than  before.  I  am  sick  of  myself  and  my  v/ayward  heart. 
I  want  to  examine  myself,  yet  fear  to  do  it  thoroughly. 
There  are  so  many  things  mingled  in  me  that  must  be  dis- 
entangled. I  do  wish  my  Lord  to  be  my  portion,  yet  my 
conversation  is  trifling,  and  to  little  purpose.  How  long, 
oh  how  long,  shall  this  disquietude  of  soul  rest  upon  me  'i 
I  do  not  wish  for  peace,  if  the  reverse  is  good  for  me.  But 
repentance  I  must  seek,  and  it  is  madness  to  go  on  thus. 
I  must  pour  out  my  soul  before  God ;  yes,  all  its  workings 
must  be  made  known  to  Him.  Leave  me  not,  my  King, 
to  wander  in  the  dark  without  a  guide  to  point  my  way — 
give  me  power  to  see  whither  thou  wouldest  lead  me,  and 
oh  !  be  my  earthly  path  what  it  may,  let  me  not  lose  sight 
of  the  light  at  the  end — the  light  of  the  eternal  city.' 

Poor  humanity  !  How  strong  in  resolve  !  How  feeble  in 
execution  !  When  David  exclaimed,  '  unite  my  heart  to 
fear  thy  name,'  he  was  probably  suffering  under  similar  ex- 
perience. The  infirmity  which  disables  the  mind  from  oc- 
cupation by  more  than  one  object  at  a  time,  and,  in  yielding 
strength  to  one  affection,  enfeebles  another,  is  one  of  the 
burdens  under  which  the  '  new  creature'  groaneth  and  tra- 
vaileth  in  pain  ;  and  even  they  who  '  have  the  first  fruits  of 
the  Spirit,  groan  within  themselves,  waiting  for  the  adop- 
tion, to  wit,  the  redemption  of  their  body.'  But  '  we  are 
saved  by  hope.'  Tke  conflict  endures  but  for  a  time.  Our 
guide  does  not  sheker  us  from  it,  but  having  tasted  its  bit- 
terness, the  soul  is  taught  more  clearly  to  discern,  and  more 
simply  to  seek  sanctification  in  all  its  attachments.     Bless- 


68  M  E  M  0  I  R    0  r 

ed  be  his  name  that  this  is  attainable,  and  that  the  more 
the  heart  is  expanded  in  such  love  as  becometh  a  Chris- 
tian, the  stronger  evidence  it  possesses  of  having  passed 
from  death  to  life.  For  a  season,  poor  Mary  was  in  hea- 
viness, but  the  '  King'  to  whose  holy  dominion  she  so  fer- 
vently renewed  her  submission,  guided  and  consoled  and 
taught  her,  so  that  she  enjoyed  peace  with  Him,  while  she 
exercised,  in  healthful  vigour,  all  the  social  and  domestic 
aftections. 

At  this  period,  we  find  RJeu  dP esprit,  descriptive  of  high 
intellectual  enjoyment,  in  the  society  of  choice  friends, 
which  shows  how  much  alive  her  soul  was  to  the  charms 
of  society. 

'an  evening  at  no.  11. 

Septemher  10, 
'  Oh  !  is  there  a  time  when  enchantment  descends 

Like  light  from  a  sphere  that  is  brighter  than  this  1 
When  the  soul's  warm  emotion  so  dazzlingly  blends, 
That  they  seem  but  as  one, — the  sensations  of  bliss  ! 

'Tis  the  hour  of  the  evening  when  daylight  is  fled, 

And  with  it  the  toils  that  awakened  with  day  ; 
And  the  tapers,  that  glow  in  the  drawing-room,  shed 

Their  reflection  on  faces  still  brighter  than  they  : 

When  the  man  from  his  desk,  and  the  boy  from  his  book, 

And  the  lady  from  thousands  of  matronly  cares, 
And  the  maid  from  her  work  and  her  lone  little  nook, 

Have  cast  to  the  wind  every  trouble  of  theirs  ; 

And  he  to  whose  genius  a  senate  might  bow, 

The  champion  of  right,  to  humanity  dear. 
Forgets  the  proud  laurels  that  wave  o'er  his  brow, 

And  gilds  like  a  sunbeam  the  moment  of  cheer  : 

And  wit  flashes  out  in  electrical  spark 

Till  the  sad  and  the  sprightly  acknowledge  the  spell, 

And  feel  that  if  prospects  at  times  appear  dark. 
Such  moments  of  rapture  repay  them  full  well ; 

And  eye  answers  eye,  in  the  sparkle  of  mirth, 

Reflecting  the  dance  of  the  heart  in  its  ray, 
And  the  chorus  of  laughter  swells  loud  round  the  hearth, 

And  the  past  and  the  future  are  lost  in  to-day. 

And  more  I  might  add — but  the  deep  doleful  chime, . 

Of  midnight  steals  o'er  me  and  breaks  on  my  dream. 
Go — whisper  to  those  whom  I  love,  little  rhyme, 

"  Keep  a  place  for  your  songster  at  evening's  fair  gleam."  ' 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  69 

While  still  alone,  she  received  a  visit  from  the  Rev.  S. 

H.  C -,  D.D.,  of  New- York, — a  man  whose  brilliant  and 

erratic  genius,  warm  affections,  and  fervent  piety,  have  kin- 
dled admiring  sympathy  in  many  less  ardent  and  less  intel- 
lectual characters  than  hers.  It  is  he  to  whom  allusion  is 
made  in  the  next  extract. 

Diary. — '  September  22. — I  have  been  at  prayer,  but  my 
heart  wandered  often,  and  now  1  do  not  feel  at  peace. 
The  work  is  God's,  so  it  cannot  fail — but  how  very  long  I 
am  in  becoming  completely  His.  I  will  not  cease  to  beg 
him  to  make  me  so.  He  is  my  God,  and  will  show  me  the 
emptiness  of  earth,  and  the  reality  of  eternity. 

'  I  hope  often  to  pray  for  Dr.  C .     May  a  spark  of 

his  fervent  spirit  linger  among  us  !  May  we  be  revived  as 
his  church  has  been,  and  in  the  place  where  an  all-wise 
God  has  cast  my  lot,  may  I  consecrate  myself  to  him  !  One 
great  sin  is,  that  the  remembrance  of  past  folly,  instead  of 
making  me  pray  and  strive  for  newness  of  life,  makes  me 
gloomy,  and,  I  fear,  has  an  effect  on  my  deportment  to  my 
dear  family.  Now,  adding  one  evil  will  not  cure  another. 
Just  let  me  seek  oneness  of  aim  and  motive.  O  for  a  sense 
of  sin  forgiven  !    Let  me  seek  it  on  this  holy  day.' 

'On  Saturday,  14th,  Dr.  C mentioned  the  half  form- 
ed intention  of  the  General  Assembly  of  the  United  States 
to  propose  a  correspondence  with  ours.  He  told  us  also  of 
the  invitation  sent  by  the  New- York  University  to  Dr.  Chal- 
mers to  lecture  there  six  months.  On  Sunday,  his  last 
prayer  was,  that  He  who  walked  between  the  golden  can- 
dlesticks would  be  with  us  still.  On  Monday,  he  spoke  of 
pneumatology,  the  science  of  spirits,  and  said  that  an  idiot's 
soul  might  be  noble  when  freed  from  the  encumbering 
bodily  organization.  We  visited  Knox's  jmlpit  and  the 
Castle.  He  looked  with  the  eye  of  a  republican  on  the 
regglia  ;  _and,  on  leaving  the  Castle,  said,  he  thought  it  well 
to  visit  such  things,  for  they  taught  us  of  how  little  value 
they  are,  and  how  much  nobler  are  the  objects  that  fill  the 
Christian's  mind,  than  any  earthly  splendour.' 

One,  who  has  read  Sir  Walter  Scott's  account  of  the  so- 
lemn convocation,  and  the  breathless  emotion  at  the  open- 
ing of  the  ancient  chest  in  which  the  regalia  of  Scotland 
had  lain  so  long  concealed, — and  of  his  ever  after  regard- 


70  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

ing  one  of  his  daughters  with  increased  respect,  because 
her  mind  was  worked  up  to  such  a  pitch  that  she  nearly 
fainted  at  the  scene,  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  contrast  be- 
tween his  mind,  and  that  of  the  American  visiter.  How- 
ever much  of  just  regard  for  lawful  institutions,  and  of  re- 
gret about  departed  honours  inhabited  the  breast  of  the  na- 
tive patriot,  had  the  view  been  extended  from  the  perishing 
earthly  splendours  to  the  crown  of  glory  that  fadeth  not,  the 
emotion  experienced  on  that  occasion  would  have  been  tem- 
pered down  to  a  degree  not  far  above  that  of  the  republican 
Christian. 

'  On  leaving  the  armoury,  Dr.  C said,  he  longed  for 

the  time  when  swords  should  be  beat  into  pruning-hooks  ; 
and  he  believed  there  were  indications  of  the  approach  of 
that  time.  He  spoke  of  an  attempt  to  settle  disputes  by 
writing  instead  of  force.  At  seven,  I  attended  a  prayer- 
meeting  where  Dr.  C spoke  of  revivals,  and  I  longed 

for  an  effusion  of  the  Spirit  on  my  own  poor  heart,  and  all 
around  me.     May  I  never  forget  that  night.' 

<  Wednesday,  18. — Mamma  came  home  at  last,  and  Dr. 

C drove  to  the  door  an  hour  after.     He  explained  the 

5th  of  Romans.  He  held  up  his  Greek  Testament,  and 
said,  "  Out  of  this  blessed  book  I  have  derived  all  the  light 
I  possess.  Why  do  my  countrymen  trust  so  much  to  each 
other's  printed  expositions,  and  not  seek  to  learn  for  them- 
selves from  this,  the  pure  spring  ?"  I  felt,  while  he  spoke 
with  a  glow  of  delight  of  the  Bible,  that  I  had  never  prized 
it,  nor  understood  it  as  I  ought.  I  have  read  it  like  other 
books,  not  impressed  with  the  thought  that  every  word  of 
it  is  God's,  and  therefore  must  be  strictly  the  truth.  No 
expression  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  choosing  is  without  its  pur- 
pose  ;  it  is  always  the  very  one  that  will  express  precisely 
and  fully  the  meaning  intended.  Let  me  carry  this  thought 
with  me  when  I  read  the  Bible.     But  I  cannot  tell  all  the 

gracious  things  Dr.  C said.     His  heart  is  full  of  Christ, 

and  thence  his  mouth  speaketh.  And  am  I  a  member  of 
the  same  family  ?  Ah,  how  unlike  him  in  spirit !  Then, 
I  am  also  unlike  Jesus,  of  whose  spirit  he  has  but  a  small 
portion,  and  whose  model  he  doubtless  feels  that  he  imi, 
tates  but  imperfectly.  0  to  yield  all  to  Him !  I  want  to 
be  His,  and  I  know  I  cannot  be  sin's  too.     Take  all  my 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.        "  71 

heart,  my  Saviour !  Let  me  crucify  the  flesh  in  every  way, 
and  love  thee  entirely,  and  my  peace  shall  be  as  the  morn- 
ing.    After  a  hasty  dinner,  we  went  with  Dr.  C to 

the  Temperance  Coffee-house,  and  soon  the  coach  whirl- 
ed him  away.  Not  so  the  impression  his  visit  had  made. 
Long,  long  may  it  rest  on  my  heart,  and  may  his  singleness 
of  purpose,  his  constant  occupation  of  mind,  his  love  to 
God,  which  is  the  source  of  his  actions,  and  the  true  secret 
of  all  the  excellence  of  his  character,  be  my  example  !' 

A  memorial  like  this,  must  be  encouraging  to  the  ser- 
vants of  Jesus,  who,  as  they  move  througTi  the  world,  en- 
deavour to  leave  a  sweet  savour  of  their  Master  behind 
them.  How  many,  from  coldness  or  backwardness,  put 
aside  their  better  thoughts,  supposing  them  to  be  unwel- 
come to  those  with  whom  they  converse,  who  might,  if  in 
love  they  Avould  iry^  refresh  many  a  disciple  in  their  course, 
and  honour  their  Lord  in  doing  so.  To  her  maternal  friend 
in  London,  Mary  wrote  of  the  same  gentleman  in  a  similar 
strain.  '  I  was  never  five  minutes  in  his  company  without 
hearing  something  useful,  and  have  had  great  delight  in  re- 
tracing all  that  he  told  me.  I  fear  his  mind  is  too  active 
for  his  frame.  Though  his  tour  has  caused  a  temporary 
cessation  of  his  pastoral  labours,  it  has  not  brought  him 
rest,  for  wherever  he  goes,  he  seeks  to  do  good  ;  and,  dur- 
ing the  week  he  passed  here,  he  preached  twice,  and  once 
addressed  a  meeting.  The  latter  was  on  the  cause  of  re- 
vivals, and  made  us  grieve  that  so  often  the  heavens  above 
us  are  as  iron,  and  the   earth  as  brass,  while  showers  of 

grace  are  falling  in  another  land.     Dr.  C visited  Mr. 

Douglas  of  Cavers,  and  my  little  brothers  had  the  good  for- 
tune to  be  his  companions,  for  he  met  them  at  Kelso  and 
took  them  with  him.  He  went  over  the  manse  grounds, 
which  are  dear  to  him  for  his  friend  Bruen's  sake.  To- 
morrow he  will  embark  for  a  home  of  which  he  speaks  with 
greater  enthusiasm  than  any  man  I  have  heard.  It  is  de- 
lightful to  see  one  whose  soul  is  so  engrossed  with  mighty 
things,  yet  so  full  of  fireside  charities.' 

Diary. — '  October  4. — Took  J.  and  B.  to  a  missionary 
meeting.  They  were  much  interested  ;  and,  next  evening, 
when  I  told  them  of  my  missionary  box,  and  that  Mr.  Knill 
gave  away  Bibles  which  cost  a  ruble  each,  B.  threw  his 


72 


HI  E  M  0  t  R     OF 


arms  around  me,  and  whispered,  *'  Sister,  I  will  give  you 
a  ruble."  Dear  child,  may  he  love  the  book  he  wishes  the 
heathen  to  have  !' 

'  October  31. — Fast  day.     I  have  a  great  deal  to  do  to- 
day in  my  heart.     I  have  tried  to  review  what  have  been 
my  chief  sins  this  summer,  and  find  that  sin  is  in  every 
thing,  yet  I  do  not  feel  it  as  I  ought.     When  I  was  suffer- 
ed to   commemorate  Jesus'  death,  I  did  not  derive  nearly 
the  good  I  ought  from  it.      I  did  not  set  myself  stedfastly 
to  seek  him,  and  am  ashamed  when  I  remember  how  very 
little  effect  the  holy  ordinance  had  on  me.     I  have  some- 
times made  the  excuse  that  some  of  the  clergymen  were 
not  very  improving.     But  I  had  the  <'  footstool  "  to  go  to, 
and  have  cause  to  grieve  that  I  sought  my  pleasures  more 
from  the  nothings  of  time  than  from  the  love  of  God.     I  find 
that  vanity  helped  to  ensnare  me.     It  pleased  me  to  be  ad- 
mired,— and  though  the  temptations  are  not  near  me  now, 
is  vanity  weaker  ?     I  often  feel  it  rising,  and  though  some 
other  sins  have  more  power  over*. me,  it  has  some  share  in 
my  evil  heart.     Let  me  put  it  down.     Then,  self-indulgence 
was  one  of  my  great  sins.     I  did  not  look  so  much  whether 
a  thing  was  right,  as  whether  it  pleased  me ;  of  course, 
there  I  got  wrong.     Against  this  let  me  watch.     Oh  !  that 
I  could  unweariedly  watch,  and  hate  the  things  that  wound 
my  Lord!     The  motives  of  my  heart  were  crooked,  be-, 
cause  other  things  than  his  will  entered  into  them.     Since 
then,  my  conscience  has  felt  burdened.     Peace  has  often 
been  far  from  me  ;  and,  when  I  have  felt  unhappy,  I  have 
not  acted  to  mamma,  or  any  one  as   I  ought.     My  heart, 
and  thence  my  brow,  have  been  clouded.      I   have  been 
most  cheerful  when  I  forgot !     Oh  !  this  is  a  false  cheer- 
fulness.    I  want  to  be  made  clean  every  whit.     When  God 
pleases,  I  want  solid  peace.     I  will  seek  him  till  I  find  him, 
his  grace  assisting  me.     My  chief  concern  is  with  eternity. 
Thither  each  day  hath  borne  its  record, — and  how  shall  I 
stand  when  it  is  all  vividly  recalled  to  me  at  judgment? 
Oh  !  Jesus,  give   me  thy  righteousness  !     It  was  only  last 
Sunday  that  I  was  thinking  over  some  of  the  past,  wherein 
I  knew  I  had  erred  ;  and  strange  !  it  was  with  a  kind  of 
pleasure.     Thus,  I  nearly  lost  an  excellent  sermon,  and 
"sinned  in  the  recesses'  of  the  temple."     If  one  of  my 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  73 

friends  knew  my  heart,  and  especially  the  want  of  upright- 
ness in  my  train  of  thought,  I  could  not  look  at  that  one. 
God  knows  all — give  me,  my  God,  the  grace  of  repentance  : 
I  want  to  draw  nigh  to  thee  to-day  ;  to  begin  anew  to  check 
sin  in  every  shape — to  love  thy  law — to  be  a  "  servant  of 
Jesus."  I  am  cold  and  vile,  and  have  only  sins  to  bring, 
but  she  of  old  to  whom  thou  forgave st  much,  loA'^ed  much. 
Let  it  be  so  with  me.  Let  me,  at  least,  love  thee  indeed. 
Do  what  thou  wilt  with  me.  I  should  destroy  myself,  if 
left  to  myself,  but  leave  me  not.  Let  this  fast  day  be  one 
long  to  be  remembered  as  one  wherein,  in  sincerity,  and 
truth,  I  yielded  up  my  mind  to  run  in  thy  way.' 

'  November  9. — I  have  not  been  able  to  write  about  the 
exercises  of  the  3d.  They  were  precious,  and  I  renewed 
my  covenant  with  my  God  solemnly.  Dear  E —  and  I 
spoke  of  the  delight  of  being  his  children  when  we  came 
from  his  house.  May  that  day  be  long  remembered  as  her 
first  open  avowal  of  her  love  to  Christ,  and  may  she  belong 
to  him  for  ever  !  I  thought  of  my  sins,  but  hope  in  my  Sa- 
viour, and  trust  he  will  strengthen  me  to  keep  my  vow,  and 
make  me  feel  my  union  to  him.  I  thought  of  the  dear 
friends  in  London  who  were  engaged  thus  ; — it  is  a  sweet 
bond.' 

The  laying  open  of  these  exercises  so  sacred  and  so  se- 
cret, is  like  the  harsh  process  of  the  naturalist  when  he 
saws  in  sunder  a  shell,  whose  external,  polished,  and  uni- 
form surface,  gives  no  indication  of  the  spiral  column,  with 
its  many  involutions,  within.  It  is  not  done  without  thought 
or  without  effort ;  but  if  the  purpose  had  in  view,  in  under- 
taking this  sketch  at  all,  is  to  be  accomplished,  it  is  by  ex- 
hibiting the  heart  laid  open  before  God, — the  jealous  search 
after  secret  sin,  and  the  humble  contrition  for  it.  This  was 
Mary's  season  of  sorest  conflict ;  and  it  is  much  to  be  ob- 
served that,  in  the  midst  of  it,  she  never  lost  her  confidence 
that  God  would  make  a  perfect  work  in  her  soul.  The  child- 
like simplicity  of  her  love  and  trust  is  very  touching,  and 
may  be  traced  to  her  happiness  in  having  been  awakened, 
through  regenerating  grace,  at  so  early  an  age.  Had  she 
only  a  year  or  two  before  this  time  of  trial  given  herself  up 
to  Christ ;  and  acquired  the  habit  of  prayer,  her  conflict 
must  have  been  sharper  !  the  former  course  of  her  thoughts 
7 


74  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

Avoiild  have  acquired  a  fearful  dominion  over  her,  and  she 
might  have  felt  as  if  she  were  cast  off  from  his  presence  ; 
but  it  was  not  so  with  her  :  she  was  still  his  redeemed 
one,  with  whose  soul  he  had  '  been  at  charges '  long  be- 
fore ;  and  she  was  assured  that  his  purpose  to  sanctify  her 
for  himself  could  not  change.  '  I  am  still  his  child,'  said 
the  sweet  mourner. — Happy  they  who  surrender  them- 
selves to  the  Lord  in  youth.  '  They  who  are  washed,  need 
not  save  to  wash  their  feet,  but  are  clean  every  whit.'  It 
ought  to  be  remarked  also,  that,  while  her  own  concealed 
imeasiness  led  her  to  imagine  that  her  conduct  was  not 
what  it  ought  to  be  in  the  family,  she  was  comforting  and 
helpful  as  a  daughter  ;  and  as  a  sister,  she  was  tutoress, 
counsellor,  or  sympathizing  friend,  at  all  times.  If  her 
spirit  was  bowed  down,  her  brow  was  serene  ;  if  her 
mind  was  anxious,  her  conduct  was  uniformly  mild  and  du- 
tiful. 

At  this  period  she  was  called  to  sojourn  at  Berwick,  for 
some  time,  with  an  aged  and  valued  relative,  who  required 
to  be  ministered  to  by  younger  hands  than  her  own.  Her 
diary  while  there,  shows  the  same  watchful  disposition, 
the  same  mistrust  of  self,  and  aversion  to  the  admission  of 
little  sins. 

Diary. — ^Berwick,  Nov.  14. — I  have  been  living  quietly 
here,  and  time  slips  through  my  fingers  fast.  My  dear 
aunt  seems  to  have  comfort  in  my  presence,  and  I  give  up 
my  own  will,  as  much  as  I  can,  to  hers.  There  is  little 
outward  temptation,  but  much  from  within  ;  and  I  fear  lest 
I  let  time  pass  without  the  benefit  I  hoped  to  derive.  Let 
me  renew  my  efforts.  I  have  tried  to  employ  my  mind 
during  my  lonely  walks  on  the  best  things.  On  Sunday, 
the  10th,  I  enjoyed  a  good  deal  of  prayer,  and  remembered 
the  preceding  one.  But,  for  the  last  two  days,  "  the  cage 
of  unclean  birds  ''  has  had  more  influence  in  my  heart,  and 
prayer  has  seemed  less  dear  and  less  necessary.  I  can 
trust  to  no  frame  of  mind  :  but  this  morning,  when  I  read 
of  Jesus'  resurrection,  I  felt  that  I  could  trust  him,  O,  I 
am  his,  why  do  I,  then,  so  often  forget  him?  To-morrow 
is  the  Sabbath.     Is  my  heart  in  a  Sabbath  frame  ? 

'  Last  night  I  commenced  teaching  Nancy.  She  is  ig- 
norant,  indeed  :  may  I  be  assisted,  and  made  useful  to  her. 


M  A  R  Y     L  U  N  D  I  E     D  U  N  C  A  N  .  75 

I  am  very  quiet  here.  How  strange  is  the  propensity  to 
look  forward.  My  prospects  are  all  misty  and  uncertain  ; 
my  retrospects  lately  painful.  Shall  I  not,  then,  look  back 
with  repentance,  and  forward  with  submission,  and  seek 
grace  for  the  present  need  ?  May  I  make  heaven  my  fu- 
ture,— the  loveliest  bourne  far,  far,  on  which  my  heart  can 
dwell !' 

<  Friday,  22. — I  have  not  this  week  been  lively  in  secret 
prayer,  and  therefore  I  do  not  feel  at  peace.  I  have  been 
much  interrupted  during  the  day,  and  have  sat  late  to  do 
something  for  my  m'md.  But  thus  my  soul  has  suffered  ; 
for,  by  the  'time  I  went  to  prayer,  I  have  been  sleepy  and 
listless,  so  as  to  have  difficulty  in  keeping  myself  up.  It 
is  difficult  to  watch  the  very  point,  which,  if  transgressed, 
is  wrong.  I  don't  like  to  let  my  mind  rest, — at  least,  not 
more  than  necessary  ;  but  I  will  try  to  improve  the  flying 
hours  better,  doing  what  I  can  in  the  day  time,  consistently 
M^ith  cheering  my  aunt,  and  obeying  her  little  behests.  I 
have  thought  much  of  dear  F ,  in  her  little  room  be- 
times, seeking  her  Father  in  heaven,  and  commending  her- 
self, her  friends,  and  the  world,  to  him.  How  rich  and  en- 
nobling is  prayer,  when  we  enter  on  it  with  all  our  hearts. 
What  can  be  so  exalting  to  the  mind,  or  fill  it  with  such 
pure  and  heavenly  thoughts?  Let  me  remember  this,  when 
I  am  poring,  in  spite  of  weariness,  on  something  I  am  bent 
on  finishing  ere  I  retire. 

'  There  is  another  fault  I  am  guilty  of, — that  of  speaking 
too  much,  and  loving  to  display  my  tiny  conversational 
powers.  I  believe  I  wish  to  do  good,  in  my  intercourse 
with  others  ;  but,  when  I  begin  to  tell  stories  of  Mr.  Knill 
and  Dr.  C,  I  feel  pleased  at  having  something  to  say  that 
gives  pleasure,  and  a  little  information  ;  and  I  have  won- 
dered to  find  my  head  in  motion,  and  my  tongue  speaking 
with  great  animation,  to  people  wiser  than  myself.  How 
contemptible  !  Should  it  not  make  me  humble  to  think 
how  vile  I  am  in  the  sight  of  God  ?  Will  nothing  teach 
me  ?  Even  when  1  am  seeking  information  there  is  a  soli- 
citude not  to  seem  ignorant,  and  an  idea  that  this  will  make 
me  seem  wiser  when  I  know  it.  Now,  all  this  should 
lead  me  to  secret  prayer.  When  I  think  I  wish  glory  to 
God,  I  find  I  am  seeking  it  for  myself.     Let  me  pray  for  a 


76  M  E  M  O  I  R      0  F 

new  heart,  a  complete  change,  and  seek  to  forget  myself, 
and  aim,  in  conversing,  to  make  others  happy,  and  honour 
God.     Let  me  try.' 

A  poem,  alluded  to  above,  and  dated  December  12, 1833, 
forms  a  suitable  close  to  this  year. 

REMINISCENCE   ON  LEAVING  KELSO. 

'  There  is  a  spot  where  memory  loves  to  rest, — 

A  scene  whose  image,  pictured  in  my  breast. 

Is  twined  with  all  that's  beautiful  and  dear, 

With  all  that  weeps  affection's  mournful  tear — 

My  home  ! — by  the  soft  sunshine  of  thy  glades, 

Thy  daisied  pastures,  mixed  with  forest  shades ; 

The  gentle  breeze,  that  fans  thy  waving  tree  ; 

By  thy  sweet  wild-flowers.  Til  remember  thee  ! 

And  thou,  my  native  stream,  whose  waveless  flow, 

Whether  thou  laugh'st  in  morning's  roseate  glow, 

Or  spread'st  thy  bosom  to  the  noontide  beam, 

Or  smil'st  in  beauty  at  the  sunset's  gleam. 

Art  lovely  still. — Bright  stream,  farewell  to  thee  ! 

Thy  silvery  waters  flow  no  more  for  me  ; 

No  more  for  me  the  music  of  thy  play. 

When  lengthening  shades  proclaim  the  close  of  day. 

One  hour  there  is,  I've  prized  above  the  rest, 

One  halcyon  hour,  when  thou  wert  loveliest ; 

'Twas  when  the  day  of  rest  was  well  nigh  sped. 

And  its  sweet  influence  o'er  my  heart  was  shed  ; 

When  courting  solitude,  at  balmy  even, 

I  sought  for  peace,  in  communing  with  heaven. 

'Twas  rapture  then,  to  gaze  on  thee,  fair  stream, 

All  sparkling  in  day's  last  and  tenderest  beam  ; 

While  the  rich  trees  that  graceful  o'er  thee  wave, 

Were  trembling  in  the  golden  light  it  gave  ; 

And  breezes  stirred  the  incense  of  the  air, 

As  though  some  Spirit  kept  his  Sabbath  there  ; 

It  seemed,  as  if  those  deep  and  spacious  skies, 

That  kindled  earth  with  their  celestial  dyes. 

Shot  rays  of  glory  from  some  heavenly  clime, 

To  bless  the  sabbath  of  the  sons  of  time. 

And  raise  the  soul,  on  contemplation's  wing. 

To  the  pure  source  whence  endless  pleasures  spring — 

A  foretaste  of  that  glorious  land  of  light. 

Where  those  who  love  the  Lamb  shall  dwell  in  robes  of  white.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  77 


CHAPTER  V. 

CORRESPONDENCE  AND  DIARY. 

Diary. — '  Edinburgh,  Jan.  13,  1834. — Up  at  four  to  see 
Cornelius  off.  I  felt  sad  when  he  set  out  in  the  dark  and 
damp,  and  thought  of  his  many  disadvantages  in  living 
alone.  Do  I  pray  enough  for  my  brother  1  My  heart 
condemns  me.' 

'  22d. — The  first  night  of  my  beginning  to  read  Watts' 

hymns,  at  the  same  hour  with  my  ever-dear  friend  F . 

I  have  not  of  late  prized  this  means  of  keeping  up  Chris- 
tian fellowship  so  much  as  once  I  did.  I  fear  I  can  trace 
this  to  my  thoughts  being  too  much  set  afloat  about  the 
future  in  this  life. — The  future  !  what  is  it  ?  A  moment 
like  the  past,  and  more  uncertain  ; — if  the  very  brightest 
dreams  that  ever  dazzled  my  fancy  had  been  realized,  still 
it  would  have  been  but  a  moment.  Shall  I  suffer  things  to 
flit  before  me,  invested  with  proportions  not  their  own,  till 
all  things  else  seem  tame  and  insipid  ? ' 

When  George  Thompson,  the  eloquent  pleader  for  the 
abolition  of  slavery,  was  called  to  visit  the  United  States,  in 
the  hope  that  his  remarkable  power  of  influencing  the  pub- 
lic mind  might  be  beneficial  there,  we  find  the  youthful 
philanthropist,  whose  ardent  mind  glowed  with  more  ex- 
alted sympathies  and  felt  an  interest  in  loftier  occupations, 
than  usually  kindle  the  enthusiasm  of  girls  of  her  age,  em- 
bodying her  desires  for  his  success  in  the  following 
verses : — 

*  To  George  Thompson  ^  Esq» 

Edinburgh^  Jan.  1831. 

*  Ah  !  what  can  tempt  your  wandering  steps 

In  foreign  lands  to  roam  ! 
Ah  !  why  forsake  your  native  plains 

And  leave  your  peaceful  homel 

7* 


78  MEMOIROF 

Say,  will  it  be  your  lot  to  find 

Where'er  your  footsteps  turn, 
A  land  as  dear,  and  hearts  as  kind 

As  those  you  leave  to  mourn  ? — 

Yet  go — heaven-favoured  hero,  go  ! 

Pursue  your  glorious  plan  ; 
Abridge  the  weight  of  human  wo, 

And  raise  the  slave  to  man. 

Blest  purpose  !  Soul-ennobling  aim  ! 

Worthy  a  generous  breast  ; 
Of  all  the  schemes  that  man  can  frame, 

The  noblest  and  the  best ! 

For  what  can  sweeter  joy  impart, 

What  purer  pleasure  give, 
Than  to  relieve  the  aching  heart. 

And  bid  the  wretched  live  1 

This  bliss  by  you,  so  often  felt, 

How  gladly  will  you  claim, 
When  grateful  thousands  weeping  join 

To  bless  your  cherished  name. 

May  gentle  breezes  waft  your  sails 

Swift  o'er  the  western  main, 
And  fortune's  smiles,  and  prospering  gales, 

Restore  you  soon  again  ! 

Heaven  bless  your  cause  !  your  country's  prayers 

Attend  you  o'er  the  sea  : 
Go  !  break  the  chain  that  slavery  wears 

And  bid  the  oppressed  be  free  ! ' 

'  March  8. — Have  had  delight  in  the  Life  of  M.  J.  Gra- 
ham :  her  remarks  on  conducting  study  to  God's  glory,  and 
drawing  out  the  mind  to  its  full  extent,  as  a  precious  talent, 
and  his  gift,  pleased  me  much.  Let  me  try,  like  her,  to 
bring  all  things  to  the  "  Test  of  Truth."  On  Sabbath  day 
attended  the  communion  at  Lady  Glenorchy's.  Mr.  Bruce 
in  serving  a  table,  spoke  of  the  value  God  has  for  us,  and 
our  consequent  duty  of  being  a  peculiar  and  separate  peo- 
ple, as,  for  the  sake  of  being  served  by  us,  he  had  given  his 
Son.  Too  light  have  been  my  impressions  of  that  blessed 
day ;  how  soon  earthly  things  warp  my  soul,  and  absorb 
my  attention  !  Let  me  keep  fast  by  my  hours  of  retire- 
ment, as  the  only  means  of  receiving  spiritual  life,  and  ob- 
taining the  blessed  Spirit  of  my  God.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  79 

These  extracts,  scanty  as  they  are,  compared  to  the 
mass  from  which  they  are  drawn,  betray  a  holy  jealousy 
of  self,  and  a  sedulous  mortification  of  all  those  emotions 
which  the  admiration  of  a  continually  extending  circle  of 
friends,  was  calculated  to  excite. 

The  extracts  from  letters  to  friends  of  her  own  age,  about 
this  time,  will  exhibit  the  elegance  and  playfulness  of  her 
mind,  ever  mingled  as  they  were,  with  thoughts  beyond 
the  present  scene. 

To  one  of  her  class-fellows, 
^  Edinburgh,  May  5,  1834. — I  had  been  longing  to  hear 
of  your  welfare  and  pursuits  for  days  before  the  arrival  of 
your  letters,  and  was  a  wee  bit  disappointed  that  there  was 
no  line  for  me ;  but  it  was  only  because  "  all  men  seem 
to  themselves  of  some  importance  ;"  so,  at  least,  says  my 
counsellor,  Pascal,  that  man  of  many  thoughts.  My  sober 
judgment  soon  told  me  you  had  chosen  your  correspondents 
wisely.  *  *  *  Is  it  not  most  animating  to  feel  one- 
self beloved  by  those  who  are  dear  to  us  ?  To  me 
it  is  the  most  exhilarating  of  all  feelings  ;  and  we,  dear 
friend,  shall  continue  to  love  and  pray  for  each  other,  whe- 
ther we  are   together  or  divided  by  many  miles.     Last 

week  I  had  a  long  letter  from  my  dearest  F .     So  long 

a  time  had  elapsed,  that  I  feared  she  had  forgotten  her 
northern  correspondent,  or  did  not  know  how  large  a  share 
she  possesses  in  my  heart ;  but  this  sweet  message  of  love 
bears  no  token  of  forgetfulness.  She  urges  me  onward  to 
the  Celestial  City,  where,  though  our  lot  be  far  distant  here, 
we  shall  together  bow  before  our  Saviour.  Yes,  my  friend  ! 
it  is  a  glorious  prospect  to  be  in  His  presence  for  evermore, 
and  to  associate  with  all  those  who  are  formed  after  his 
likeness  ;  and  it  is  sweet  to  hold  converse  with  the  loved 
companions  of  our  short  pilgrimage,  those  who  have  help- 
ed us  to  draw  nearer  to  our  Lord,  who  have  poured  conso- 
lation into  our  spirits  when  wounded,  or  doubled  our  joys 
by  their  sympathy.      It  is  strange  when   I   think  of  my 

friend.  Miss  R ,  that  my  thoughts  always  flow  in  this 

current.     Our  intercourse  has  been  nearly  all  connected 


80  M  E  M  0  T  R      0  F 

with  our  highest  hopes,  and  I  trust  the  perpetuity  of  our 
love  will  much  enhance  its  value. 

*I  hope,  dear  M ,  the  spring  breezes  that  open  the 

roses  in  the  garden,  are  also  planting  thepi  on  your  cheeks, 
which  were  at  times  so  pale  as  to  tell  us  that  the  heat  of 
schools  did  not  please  them  so  well  as  the  wooded  slopes 

of  C .     Do  run  about  and  be  as  wild — I  was  going  to 

say — as  an  ass's  colt !  but  stopped,  lest  you  should  think, 
which  is  not  the  case,  that  I  meant  to  insinuate  any  affinity 
between  my  fair  friend  and  that  interesting  quadruped. 
No,  no !  B.  B.'s  lessons  in  botany  and  all  the  sciences, 
profound  and  light,  will  preclude  all  possibility  of  this  — 
There  is  more  danger  of  your  becoming  a  blue.  *  * 
Our  little  friends  at  Stockbridge  school,  go  on  as  well  as 
usual ;  I  really  respect  and  like  the  teacher.  *  *  * 
You  will  think  of  us  next  Sabbath. — Do  pray  for  me.  I 
could  tell  you  of  the  coldness  and  carelessness  of  my  heart, 
but  I  would  not  sadden  you  with  my  confessions  ;  only  ask 
that  I  may  know  more  of  the  hidden  love  of  God.' 

The  friend,  to  whom  she  makes  such  grateful  allusion  in 
the  foregoing  letter,  and  of  whom  she  states  that  their  inter- 
course had  been  nearly  all  connected  with  their  highest 
hopes,  had  shown  her  much  considerate  kindness  when  a 
school  girl ;  and,  though  they  never  saw  each  other  again, 
the  tone  of  their  intercourse  was  of  an  elevating  cast  to 
the  end.  Daily  spiritual  communion  was  maintained,  by  a 
concerted  course  of  scriptural  reading,  which  was  occa- 
sionally varied  by  a  collection  of  hymns.  The  salutary 
effect  of  this  was  obvious  on  ^Vfkry's  mind,  for  the  name  of 
that  friend  seemed  invariably  to  lead  to  a  train  of  pious  re- 
flection. A  part  of  what  appears  to  be  the  reply  to  the 
letter  mentioned  above,  is  as  follows  : 

To  her  friend  near  London, 
*Edin.,  May  3,  1834. — I  have  risen  an  hour  before  the 
household,  and  shall  enjoy  my  quiet  time  with  you ;  but 
most  sincerely  do  I  join  in  your  kind  wish  that  we  could 
meet  for  an  hour  or  two.  I  should  like  to  thank  you  viva 
voce  for  all  your  letters,  and  to  tell  you  that  they  have  not 
unfrequently  come  when  I  was  in  want  of  quickening  and 
stirring  up,  and  have  helped  me  to  draw  more  near  to  my 


MARY      LTJNDIE      DUNCAN.  81 

Saviour,  for  a  time  at  least.  Let  us,  my  beloved  friend, 
set  our  faces  more  stedfastly  to  seek  Him  w^ho  is  our  King, 
and  our  only  hope.  I  often  wonder  at  my  own  hardness  of 
heart,  that  I  should  prize  earthly  friendship,  one  of  his 
sweetest  gifts,  so  much,  and  yet  love  so  little  Him  who  is 
the  source  of  love,  from  whom  flows  all  the  kindly  feelings 
that  cheer  our  way,  and  who  has  manifested  towards  us  a 
compassion  whose  depth  we  cannot  fathom.  Why  is  it 
that  all  perfection  should  be  so  coldly  thought  of,  and  that 
cisterns  Avhich  fail  should  be  so  cherished? — or  that  the 
prayers  of  Christian  friends  should  be  sought  and  prized, 
and  yet  the  open  door  to  the  throne  of  mercy  be  so  often 
passed  by  ?  I  was  struck  with  the  contradiction  in  this, 
when  this  morning  I  had  many  wandering  thoughts  in 
prayer,  and  hoped  that  you  would  pray  for  me.  Ah  !  sure- 
ly, if  I  truly  desired  to  grow  in  grace,  my  own  prayers 
would  be  more  frequent  and  earnest ;  for  what  can  be  more 
plain  or  more  encouraging  than  the  command,  "  ask  and  ye 
shall  receive?"  My  God  bears  long  with  an  untoward 
child,  and  this  makes  me  hope,  that  my  slow  walk,  and 
frequent  deviation  from  the  path  of  life,  may  be  changed 
for  that  "  unwearied  running,"  which  must  make  present 
objects  lose  their  false  importance,  and  heaven  and  holi- 
ness be  viewed  aright.  Is  it  not  cheering,  dear  F.,  to  feel 
that  strength  is  not  in,  or  from  ourselves,  but  "  our  help  cona- 
eth  from  the  Lord?"  To  him,  then,  let  us  always  return, 
and  never  be  satisfied  with  any  thing  that  may  pretend  to 
the  name  of  happiness,  short  of  His  love.  It  is  delightful 
to  me  to  commune  with  you,  dear  fellow-pilgrim,  even  at 
the  distance  of  so  many  miles,  and  to  feel  that  the  bond 
which  unites  us  is  our  fellowship  with  heaven.  To  love  in 
Christ  is  the  happiest  earthly  feeling,  and  I  do  trust  it  is 
thus  we  love  each  other.  It  seems  a  preparation  for  an- 
other state  of  being,  where,  indeed,  God  will  be  all  in  all ; 
and,  though  we  are  widely  separated  here,  may  we  not 
worship  together  there?  The  continuance  of  our  friendship 
makes  me  prize  it  most ;  for  I  think  it  will  not  die  with  us. 
No !  what  belongs  to  the  soul  cannot  die  ;  and  if  you 
should  in  time  find  out  all  my  weakness,  and  cease  to  love 
me,  or  if  long  absence  should  even  break  off  our  correspon- 
dence, yet  in  heaven,  purified  and  made  one  in  Jesus,  you 


82  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

could  not  but  love  me  again  ;  and  not  the  less  for  remem- 
bering that  in  this  vale  we  held  sweet  converse,  and  often 
met  in   spirit  before  the  Lord.     But  my  dear  friend  will 
smile  at  this  glance  into  the  future  and  the  unknown  ;  yet, 
will  not  she  agree  with  me,  that  friendship  assumes  a  nobler 
character,  when  we   look  forward  to  the  period  when  we 
shall  be  filled  with  the  same  holy  joy,  and  satisfied  with 
the  same  glorious  "  likeness  ?"         *         *         My  time  is 
at  present  so  much  occupied,  that  it  is  important  to  employ 
each  moment  as  it  flies,  or  I  could  not  do  half  that  I  wash. 
Indeed,  I  never  accomplish  every  thing  I  have  purposed  in 
the   morning.     Two   mornings  in  the  week  are  spent  in 
schools  ;    one^  of  which  interests  me  much, — the  other  is 
but  a  new  acquaintance,  and  there  is  a  want  of  method  and 
spirit  in  the  management,  which  only  the  regular  teacher 
can  wholly  supply.      I    am  also   taking  some  lessons   in 
singing,  of  which  1  am  very  fond  ;  and  my  inward  discus- 
sions, on  whether  the  value  of  time  admits  of  such  employ, 
generally  terminated  in,  "  it  is  but  for   a  little  while,  and 
mamma  and  all  of  them  like  it."     I  meet  my  singing  com- 
panion twice  a-week,  to  practise,  and  to   give  her  a  little 
rudimental  knowledge  of  Italian  ;    and  as  we  have  begun 
with   John's  gospel,  there  is  an  occasional  opportunity  to 
speak  to   my  amiable   friend  of  some  precious  words   of 
Jesus.     Mamma  often  reads  aloud  in  the  evening,  while  I 
work  ;  and  I  enjoy  this  more  than  most  things.     My  little 
sister's  improvement  I  now  watch  eagerly,  perhaps  selfish- 
ly, I  do  so  long  for  her  changing  from  the  dear  child  to  the 
friend.         *         *         You  will  not  forget  us  on  our  com- 
munion Sabbath.     I  never  enjoy  my  dear  uncle's*  preach- 
ing so  much   as  on   those   days ;    he  seems  so  deeply  im- 
pressed with  the  value  of  the  dying  memorial  of  the  cruci- 
fied Lord.' 

To  her  Edlnhurgh  class-fellow  she  wrote  in  June : — 

*         *         '  Though  you  may  rejoice  in  your  absence 

from  dusty  streets,  you  must  allow  me  to  cloud  your  sunny 

mind  by  telling  you  that  you  have  missed  what  has  been 

most  interesting.     We  poor  sojourners  in  busy  haunts  of 

*  Rev.  H.  Grey,  St.  Mary's,  Edinburgh. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  83 

men,  have  some  compensation  for  oiir  exclusion  from  the 
loveliness  of  early  smnmer  in  the  country,  in  seeing  those, 
whose  names  we  have  been  accustomed  to  venerate,  and 
hearing  discussions  that  lose  half  their  interest  when  they 
have  passed  through  the  ordeal  of  a  reporter's  pen.  I  need 
not  tell  you  of  this  most  satisfying  General  Assembly. 
Think  how  it  has  advanced  in  liberal  feeling  within  three 
years.  Let  us,  dear  M ,  pray  for  the  peace  of  Jerusa- 
lem, that  the  spirit  of  her  King  may,  in  yet  larger  measure, 
descend  on  those  who  minister  in  his  sanctuary.  To-day, 
I  passed  a  short  time  in  the  gay  scene  in  the  Experimental 
Gardens,  but  I  could  not  enjoy  the  flowers  for  the  swarms 
of  "  knights  and  ladies  gay"  who  crowded  the  walks  ; 
still,  there  is  something  inspiriting  in  timing  our  footsteps 
to  the  cadence  of  martial  music  ;  and  I  could  have  fancied 
myself  in  some  promenade  of  gay  France,  where  all  the 
idle  happy  creatures  (an  anomaly  I  own)  meet  to  while  away 
their  hours  amid  sights  and  sounds,  and  odours  in  blended 
beauty ;  but  it  outraged  my  northern  feeling,  with  regard  to 
what  a  garden  should  be.  Is  there  not  in  the  word  garden 
something  that  expresses  retirement  and  quiet,  that  could 
soothe  the  mind  when  ruffled,  and  soften  it  when  gay? 
Does  it  not  bring  to  view  Cowper  in  his  alcove,  and  Han- 
nah More  among  her  clustering  roses  at  Barley-Wood,  or 
our  first  parents  in  their  heaven-appointed  home,  where 
their  employ  was  to  learn  the  wisdom  and  love  of  God  from 
every  blossom  that  opened  to  the  sun  ?  And  does  it  not 
recall  calm  hours  that  we,  ourselves,  have  spent,  commun- 
ing with  natiu-e,  as  if  following  the  thoughts  of  some  great 
mind  far  away  from  outward  distractions,  and  drawing  near 
in  our  solitude  to  Him  who  made  the  blades  of  grass  we 
press  beneath  our  feet,  and  made  us,  immortal,  highly- 
favoured  creatures  ?  Many  such  thoughts  used  to  fill  my 
heart  in  the  garden  at  my  own  sweet  home  ;  and  would 
you  believe,  the  floating  scene  of  this  morning  recalled 
those  feelings  vividly?  You  will  not  smile  at  this,  when 
you  remember  the  pain  of  being  obliged  to  leave  every  in- 
animate object  that  has  been  long  endeared.  But  after  all, 
change  of  place  should  not  strongly  influence  the  real 
Christian,  for  his  Master  never  leaves  him,  and  His  peace 
in  the  heart  makes  even  the  wilderness  to  blossom  as  the 


84  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

rose.     Have  you,  my  M ,  had  your  breast  filled  with 

that  best  gift  since  your  abode  in  the  country  ?  I  have 
hoped  that  a  few  months  there  may  prove  a  time  of  re- 
freshing to  you;  and  may  not  the  heavy  stroke  which  has 
rendered  the  house  of  your  faithful  pastor  desolate,  convey 
additional  earnestness  to  his  words,  and  increasing  desire 
to  his  hearers  to  learn  heavenly  wisdom  ?  My  dear  friend, 
use  the  precious  hours  as  they  fly,  and  oh !  pray  for  me 
that  I  may  do  so  likewise,  and  have  my  heart  and  my  por- 
tion in  heaven.' 

To  a  friend  zvho  had  lost  a  brother  in  a  foreign  country. 
*         *         *      '  Alas !  what  can   earthly  comfort  avail 
when  a  cloud  of  doubt  hangs  over  the  departing  hours  of 

"  one  whom  our  souls  loved."     Yet,  my  beloved  M , 

the  balm  of  Gilead  is  sufficient  even  for  this,  though  to  a 
Christian  the  most  afflictive  trial  that  can  befal  him ;  and 
you,  I  know,  have  felt  that  the  Sun  of  righteousness  shines 
bright  even  amid  thick  darkness.  *         *         It  not  un- 

frequently  occurs,  that  the  God,  whose  footsteps  are  not 
known,  leads  some  wanderer  from  his  fold  into  a  far  coun- 
try, where  no  Sabbath  bell  is  heard,  and  there,  remote  from 
human  aid,  teaches  him  by  his  Spirit,  that  eternity  alone  is 
worth  living  for,  and  that  true  religion  alone  is  the  safe- 
guard of  any  individual.  Poor  Nugent  Richmond  was  so 
taught  on  the  bosom  of  the  trackless  waters,  and  led  on,  in 
an  affecting  manner,  through  various  trials,  till  his  Father 
saw  him  ripe  for  heaven,  and  called  him  hence.  This  is  a 
severe  test  of  faith,  but  may  it  issue  in  the  brightening  of 
all  your  Christian  graces.  It  is  well  to  learn  to  give  glory 
to  God,  even  in  the  fires.  I  understand  the  clinging  aflfec- 
tion  which  this  sorrow,  along  with  the  departure  of  your 
elder  brother,  makes  you  feel  for  the  younger;  yet,  do  not 
rest  on  any  earthly  support;  go  at  once,  and  without  reser- 
vation, to  your  God,  and  in  trusting  him  you  shall  be  great- 
ly blessed.  Try  to  gather  the  fair  fruits  of  sanctified  afflic- 
tion in  these  dark  days,  my  friend ;  do  not  seek,  by  other 
things,  to  weaken  the  impression  that  God  is  dealing  with 
you,  but  keep  close  to  him,  and  become  all  that  he  designs 
this  first  oppressing  grief  should  render  you.  Your  spiri- 
tual peace,  your  singleness   of  eye   may  be  greater  now 


MARY     LUN  DIE     DUNCAN.  85 

than  ever,  if  only  you  make  use  of  the  sluices  that  have 
been  opened  in  your  soul,  which,  painful  though  they 
be,  form  a  channel  for  the  healing  waters  to  flow  in.  Does 
not  the  world  seem  "  a  vain  show"  to  you  now  ?  Oh  !  I 
never  knew  the  meaning  of  these  words  till  my  beloved  and 
revered  father  was  taken  from  me,  and  then  they  rang  in 
my  ears  for  weeks,  and  seemed  to  be  written  in  their  full 
meaning  on  my  soul.  How  new  the  old  and  familiar  lan- 
guage of  Scripture  seems,  when  a  second  being,  as  it  were, 
is  awakened  in  us  by  sufferings.  What  rich  mines  of  trea- 
sure the  promises  become,  and  how  we  hold  by  them,  sure 
for  once  that  no  other  stay  can  prop  us.' 

To  her  correspondent  near  London. 
^  Edin.,  June  S,  1834. — I  wonder  if  you  love  the  Psalms 
as  I  do  ;  they  have  so  often  cheered  me  when  sad,  and 
filled  my  heart  with  sweet  and  peaceful  thoughts,  that  I  feel 
as  if  some  of  them  were  peculiarly  my  own  ;  I  feel  that 
they  have  been  my  songs  in  the  house  of  my  pilgrimage. 
I  like  to  have  my  feelings  at  once  expressed  and  deepened 
by  the  words  of  inspiration,  and  to  believe  that  the  same 
emotion  which  tuned  the  harp  of  David  of  old  is  in  a  faint 
degree  possessing  me  ;  and,  in  God's  own  time,  a  harp  of 
purer  tone  shall  be  given  us,  and  along  with  the  Minstrel  of 
Israel,  we  shall  tune  them  to  the  praise  of  his  Lord  and 
ours.  Why  is  it  then,  that  I  am  content  to  be  so  far,  im- 
measurably far  behind  him  now,  in  devotion  of  spirit  and 
Christian  attainment  ?  It  startles  me  to  think  of  the  high 
and  blessed  hopes  I  cherish,  and  then  to  return  to  my  daily 
walk,  and  see  how  little  it  is  regulated  by  them,  or  by  a 
motive  more  constraining  still,  the  love  of  my  Saviour.  I 
know  you  will  say,  your  trust  must  be  fixed  on  Him  alone  ; 
you  must  not  expect  to  find  any  thing  in  yourself  on  which 
to  lean.  True  !  but  what  is  it  that  prevents  my  coming 
more  frequently  into  His  presence  by  prayer,  and  why  is 
it,  that,  when  there,  my  desires  are  so  languid,  and  at  times 
I  even  seem  to  have  nothing  to  ask — I  do  not  mean  that  I 
never  heartily  pray — Oh !  I  should  indeed  be  miserable 
were  it  so  ;  but  I  have  been  cold  of  late  ;  I  want  quicken- 
ing. *  *  *  I  feel  painfully  how  easy  it  is  for  me  to 
bear  the  character  of  a  Christian,  while  I  have  very  slightly 
8 


86  M  E  M  O  I  R     O  F 

*'  taken  up  my  cross,"  and  very  imperfectly  renounced  the 
love  of  this  vain  world.  Dearest  friend,  how  shall  I  en- 
tirely belong  to  Jesus  !  Oh  !  animate  me,  by  your  love,  to 
love  Him  more,  and  do  not  fear  to  say  what  you  think  of 
my  evil  heart,  for  how  shall  it  become  purified  unless  truly 
dealt  with  ?  I  sometimes  fear  life  has  for  me  too  much  that 
is  engrossing  ;  though,  two  years  ago,  I  did  not  suppose  I 
would  again  estimate  it  as  aught  but  a  vain  show.  How 
strange  is  the  tendency  to  seek  for  rest,  where  all  is  fleet- 
ing !  I  have  had  a  lesson  of  great  pain  that  it  is  so,  in  the 
removal  of  my  most  dear  friend,  Isabella  Gordon.  You 
have  no  idea  what  a  blank  it  is  to  me  to  think  she  is  no 
longer  on  earth  ;  though  far  separated,  we  could  think  of 
each  other  with  the  happiness  of  those  who  know  that  such 
remembrances  are  mutual,  and  the  hope  of  seeing  her  in 
Scotland  this  summer,  had  been  held  out  to  her  friends 
here,  and  had  given  me  lively  pleasure  for  months  ;  but  she 
is  gone — quite  gone,  and  earth  shall  not  be  our  place  of 
meeting.  I  had  believed  it  a  sweet  friendship,  formed  to 
add  to  the  enjoyments  of  time ;  but,  though  it  has  not  proved 
so,  the  memory  of  this  loved  one  will  continue  most  pre- 
cious, till  we  meet  to  love  more  intensely,  and  more  in  the 
Lord  than  we  could  have  done  here.  I  cannot  bear  to  think 
of  her  mother  and  sister's  grief;  it  must  be  overwhelming  : 
and  her  poor  husband,  who  so  lately  thought  he  had  se- 
cured such  a  treasure  for  his  own — how  great  must  his 
desolation  be  !  She  was  a  creature  so  full  of  spirit  and 
liveliness,  that  I  never  thought  of  her  in  connexion  with 
death.  *-  *  There  is  no  cloud  too  thick  to  be  penetrated 
by  the  beams  of  divine  love,  and  where  they  shine,  how  can 
it  all  be  darkness  1  They  are  often  most  glorious  and  re- 
viving, when  creature  comforts  fail.  *  *  How  the  pass- 
ing thought  of  losing  those  who  are  entwined  with  our  very 
being,  deepens  and  hallows  our  love  to  them  !  How  it 
makes  us  anticipate  every  wish,  and  strive  in  communing 
with  them,  to  catch  the  glow  that  rests  on  their  souls  ere 
they  are  called  from  us  !  Oh  !  how  perfectly  can  I  enter 
into  your  feelings,  and  how  earnestly  I  pray,  that,  whatever 
befalls  you,  may  tend  to  fit  you  for  your  mansion  in  Im- 
manuel's  land,  the  land  we  love  the  best ;  and  to  which 
every  friend  who  is  gathered,  draws  our  hearts  more  closely. 


MARY     LUNDIK     DUNCAN.  87 

Help  me  to  praise  Him,  while  we  are  still  in  this  far-off 
country,  and  we  shall  sing  with  gladsome  voices,  when  fear 
and  care  are  known  to  us  only  in  grateful  remembrance.* 

To  the  same  friend  under  a  family  bereavement. 
'Edinburgh,  September  19,  1884. —  *  *  *  j  long  to 
know  how  you  have  sustained  the  blow,  and  what  have  been 
the  exercises  of  your  soul  since  it  was  struck.  I  trust  you 
have  been  enabled  throughout,  to  view  it  but  as  "  the  sterner 
voice  of  love,"  and  to  find  rest  from  all  your  grief  at  the 
footstool  of  the  throne.  Oh  !  what  place  of  refuge  is  like 
this,  when  heart  and  flesh  fail  ?  Where  can  we  flee  for  sup- 
port, but  to  the  rock  of  ages  ?  To  hide  beneath  the  shadow 
of  the  Almighty,  when  the  storms  of  sorrow  beat  around  us, 
is  ♦*  perfect  peace."  To  call  him  Abba,  Father,  while  he 
is  depriving  us  of  what  we  loved  the  most,  is  something  like 
a  foretaste  of  heaven,  where  He  shall  be  ail  in  all.  This 
hidden  joy  you  daily  experience,  for  He  has  long  been  your 
portion ;  and  his  perfect  fulness  is  never  felt  till  some  de- 
lights have  withered,  and  our  eyes  have  been  opened  to  the 
vanity  of  time,  and  to  the  nearness  of  eternity  ;  earth  fades 
away  as  we  follow  the  glorified  spirit  to  its  new  and  holy 
abode,  and  attempt  to  join  in  the  song  of  praise  which  fills 
the  upper  sanctuary.  A  tearful  and  faltering  song  it  will 
be,  my  loved  friend,  so  long  as  we  are  here,  yet  not  dis- 
regarded by  the  God  of  compassion,  and  not  the  less  sweet, 
because  a  sense  of  unworthiness  almost  makes  it  die  on 
our  lips.  He  will  one  day  give  it  the  strength  and  purity 
of  angels'  praise,  and  we  shall  adore  him  face  to  face.  I 
know  not  a  more  intensely  delightful  occupation  of  mind, 
than  to  look  stedfastly  upward  for  a  time  to  see  the  Lamb 
of  God  pleading  for  us  with  pity  and  love  ;  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  breathing  around  influences  of  grace,  that  make 
heaven  what  it  is — a  place  of  perfect  purity  ;  and  to  see 
the  ransomed  throng  casting  their  crowns  before  the  most 
High,  in  the  height  of  their  grateful  love,  and  to  recognize 
amongst  them  some  whom  we  have  known  as  companions 
of  our  pilgrimage,  when  they,  like  us,  were  creatures  of  sin 
and  infirmity,  longing  for  that  full  converse  with  God  which 
they  could  not  here  enjoy,  sympathizing  in  our  sorrow  for 
sin,  and  urging  us  onward  to  the  home  they  now  have  en- 


88  31  E  31  0  I  R     0  F 

tered.  True,  they  are  ours  no  longer,  but  they,  as  weli  as 
we,  are  of  the  family  of  Jesus, — sweet,  indissoluble  bond  ! 
Oh  !  to  be  among  those  blessed  ones  in  his  presence.  The 
time  will  soon  come,  dear  sister  in  Christ,  and  then  no  more 
weeping,  no  more  pain,  no  more  sinning  against  infinite 
goodness.  I  pray  for  you,  that  the  port  of  endless  rest  may  - 
be  brought  so  near  to  you  in  contemplation,  as  to  enable 
you  to  feel,  that  though  your  all  were  taken  away,  yoli 
would  be  still  rich,  still  happy. 

'  It  affects  me  greatly  to  think,  that  while  you  were  suf- 
fering, and  I  knew  it  not,  I  was  enjoying  a  greater  pleasure 
than  I  have  for  a  long  time,  in  visiting  some  of  the  love- 
liest parts  of  Scotland  in  company  with  dear  friends.  I 
little  thought  how  you  were  engaged  when  I  was  tracing 
the  bounteous  hand  of  God  in  fertile  valleys,  or  seeing  the 
precious  things  of  the  "  lasting  hills,"  that  rise  among 
lakes  and  rivers.  Ah  !  had  I  known,  you  would  have  been 
borne  in  my  heart  through  all  my  wanderings ;  but  now  I 
shall  daily  pray  for  you,  that  you  may  produce  the  peace- 
able fruits  of  righteousness,  through  this  chastisement  of 
your  God.  Is  it  not  joy  to  have  a  dear  friend  safe — safe 
with  Jesus.  To  think  of  you  in  your  sorrow,  makes  me 
love  you  more  ;  you  will  learn  much  in  sorrow  that  you  did 
not  know  till  now  ;  and  may  I  hope,  that,  when  strength 
and  inclination  permit,  you  will  tell  me  of  the  things  that 
you  have  seen  and  heard,  that  I  may  enter  into  your  joys  as 
well  as  your  sorrows.     Farewell,  sweet  Friend.' 

The  next  letter,  from  which  a  portion  is  extracted,  is  ad- 
dressed to  the  same  precious  Christian  friend,  and  in  it,  for 
the  first  time,  she  mentions  the  engagement  she  had  formed 
with  Mr.  W.  W.  Duncan,  the  youngest  son  of  her  father's 
highly-esteemed  friend,  and  old  college  companion,  the  Rev. 
Dr.  Duncan  of  Ruthwell : — 

'  Edinburgh^  November  20,  1834. —  *  *  *  How  sweet 
is  it  to  resign  our  treasures  to  a  God  of  love,  and  to  follow 
them  in  thought  to  the  sacred  bliss  of  His  immediate  pre- 
sence, where  they  expand  into  new  vigour,  and  a  joy  which 
they  could  not  here  have  known,  and  lived.  Does  not  the 
one  thought  of  their  exemption  from  sin,  their  freedom  from 
the  dread  of  ever  again  grieving  the  Saviour  make  one  long 
to  be  with  them,  where  all  is  peace  and  purity  ?  Oh !  to 
be  ready  when  the  call  is  heard  !    Strange,  that  sin  should 


MARY     LUN  DIE     DUNCAN.  89 

ever  acquire  an  ascendancy  in  us,  when  we  know  that 
"  the  end"  draws  near  !  Would  that  it  were  so  nailed  to 
the  cross  of  Jesus  that  we  could  never  see  it  in  any  light 
but  that  of  abhorrence.  I  wish  I  were  near  you  for  a  little 
time,  my  dearest  friend  ;  I  selfishly  wish  it,  because  I  am 
sure  you  would  help  my  slow  and  wavering  feet  to  run  the 
race  set  before  me.  I  have  profited  little  by  the  trials  that 
have  entered  into  my  lot,  and  each  day  discloses  some  evil 
to  be  struggled  against,  or  some  corruption  that  I  had  long 
since  thought  in  a  measure  vanquished,  rising  with  new 
vigour,  and  surprising  me  into  sin.  How  difficult  is  it  to 
keep  the  heart,  and  how  impossible  to  serve  God  without 
doing  so. 

Our  circle  of  acquaintance  is  on  the  increase,  but  it  is 
not  less  than  self-denial  to  pass  much  time  in  society,  un- 
less it  consists  of  friends^  and  those  who  can  improve  and 
sympathize  with  me  in  the  best  things.  This  feeling  grows 
upon  me,  and  leads  me  to  evade  it  in  many  ways.  I  fear 
this  is  selfish,  yet  how  little  good  can  I  do  in  company, 
and  how  little  do  I  ever  obtain.  Tell  me  what  you 
think  about  this,  my  dear  friend.  A  true  friend  in  Christ 
is  invaluable,  and  the  few  who  are  so  kind  as  to  be  my 
friends  in  this  sense,  possess  my  warmest  love  ;  I  hope  I 
may  always  count  you  among  the  number. 

'You  have  of  late  been  living  much  on  the  confines  of  the 
unseen  world,  and  getting  your  spirit  brought  into  sweet  ac- 
cordance with  the  will  of  God  ;  you  have  tasted  much  of 
his  goodness,  and  have  been  preparing  for  the  morning  of 
joy  that  shall  follow  the  night  of  weeping.  I  know  the  ten- 
der and  subdued  frame  into  which  you  have  been  brought, 
and  I  pray  God  it  may  be  increased,  and  that  all  your  life 
you  may  be  glad  when  memory  refers  to  this  mournful  and 
precious  season.  Is  not  the  Christian  life  unlike  all  other 
things,  in  the  abounding  of  joy  when  tribulation  is  heaviest? 
I  long  for  the  time  when  all  the  world  shall  know  what  this 
means,  and  all  hearts  shall  resign  themselves  to  God. 

*  *  *  '  Why  is  it,  my  loved  friend,  that  we  have 
so  little  real  Christian  fellowship  with  those  we  love,  while 
health  and  time  remain  to  us  ?  There  is  so  often  an  ap- 
proach to  the  subject,  without  its  leading  to  any  thing  that 
may  warm  our  affections,  or  elevate  our  dull  hearts  farther 
8* 


90  M  E  :\i  0  I  R     O  F     " 

above  the  passing  scene.  Is  it  that  the  vanities  of  time 
engross  us,  so  that  we  are  unwilling  to  embody  in  words, 
wishes  which  we  feel  to  be  too  evanescent,  lest  the  action 
of  the  next  hour  should  bring  upon  us  a  charge  of  incon- 
sistency 1  Ah  !  we  do  not  remember  that  the  Searcher  of 
hearts  knows  all  that  may  be  concealed  from  our  fellow- 
pilgrims.  I  am  convinced  there  would  be  more  consistent 
watchfulness  if  we  sometimes  gave  them  a  look  of  what 
was  passing  in  our  hearts  ;  and  this  is  only  an  incidental 
advantage  among  many  direct  ones,  for  we  might  learn  much 
by  placing  our  hopes  and  fears  by  the  side  of  others.  For 
myself,  I  feel  that,  if  I  were  greatly  rejoicing  in  the  hope 
which  maketh  not  ashamed,  the  reference  to  it  would  be 
more  frequent  and  more  fervent  than  it  is.  I  have  been 
trying  for  the  last  fortnight,  but  I  find  a  danger  of  being 
obtrusive,  and  injuring  the  best  of  causes.  Truly,  wisdom 
is  ne<fessary  to  the  child  of  God.     *     *     * 

*  We  are  not  without  our  trials  this  winter  ;  my  brother 
G.  is  unable  to  attend  school.  *  *  *  if  this  illness  be 
the  means  of  leading  him  to  the  Saviour,  it  will  be  cause 
of  joy,  and  not  of  grief.  He  loves  mamma,  and  listens  to 
all  she  says  to  him  with  deep  interest  ;  but  how  delightful 
it  would  be  to  see  him  devote  himself  heartily  to  God.  You 
know  the  heart  of  a  sister,  when  she  longs  to  see  her  bro- 
ther walk  decidedly  and  steadily  in  the  truth.  Will  you 
join  me  in  praying  for  this  dear  boy  ?     *     *     * 

*  I  am  informed  by  a  mutual  friend  that  you  have  heard 
a  piece  of  intelligence  concerning  me,  w^hich  I  am  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  wind  has  blown  southward.  My  dearest  F., 
I  ought  to  have  told  you  of  this  before,  but  for  my  great 
aversion  to  write  about  it.  Yes,  my  dear  friend  !  my  lot 
is  cast — and  I  trust  it  is  the  Lord,  my  heavenly  and  only 
Father,  who  has  decided  it.  I  have  been  engaged,  since 
spring,  to  the  son  of  my  beloved  papa's  dearest  friend.  I  look 
forward  to  the  future,  if  with  some  trembling  and  fear,  with  a 
counterbalancing  mixture  of  hope  in  the  God  who  has  led 
and  guided  ine  all  my  life,  and  of  confidence  in  the  friend 
whom  I  have  so  deeply  trusted.  We  have  met  during  the 
summer,  but  are  now  separated.  I  feel  that  correspondence 
unfolds  points  of  character  which  personal  intercourse  does 
not  do  so  well.    You  do  not  know  how  long  young  clergy- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  91 

men  in  Scotland  are  sometimes  obliged  to  wait  before  they 
obtain  a  place  in  the  vineyard  to  which  they  have  devoted 
themselves.  It  may  be  years, — but  we  have  from  the  first 
left  all  in  the  hands  of  our  covenant  God,  and  he  will  do  all 
things  well.  I  love  the  prospect  of  being  engaged  through 
life  in  winning  souls  to  Him,  and  of  having  extended  oppor- 
tunities of  usefulness.  But  it  is  a  responsible  and  solemn 
post.  Oh  !  for  a  spirit  that  would  willingly  give  up  all  for 
Jesus,  and  endure  whatever  he  lays  upon  me.  There  are 
trials  connected  with  my  present  situation  which  I  did  not 
know  before,  yet  they  are  pleasant  ones  in  one  sense.  But 
you  will  pray  for  me,  and  will  now  sometimes  blend  another 
name  with  mine  in  the  petitions  which  I  value  above  many 
things.  I  need  your  counsel,  my  beloved  friend  ;  give  it 
me  faithfully  and  freely.  Tell  me  to  set  my  affections  on 
things  above,  and  not  to  permit  either  happiness  or  grief  to 
take  too  great  possession  of  me.  It  is  wrong  to  have  filled 
so  much  paper  with  what  relates  to  myself,  at  a  time  when 
your  spirit  is  so  differently  engaged  ;  but  I  know  from  the 
sorrow  I  felt  in  your  affliction,  that  you  will  not  disregard 
my  state  of  mind.  It  is  pleasant  to  forget  self  in  sympa- 
thy with  others  ;  it  gives  new  impulse  to  the  thought,  and 
lightens  the  load  that  may  be  weighing  us  down.  When 
I  think  of  all  the  events  of  April,  1832,  which  are  as  dis- 
tinct as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  the  evanescence  of  all 
earthly  things  comes  before  me.  Then  I  was  in  the  deep 
waters  of  my  first  sorrow,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  could  never 
be  again  very  happy  here.  Those  days  looked  mournful, 
but  sacredly  beloved :  yet  difierent  feelings  have  the  as- 
cendancy,— my  own  papa's  place  never  can  be  filled, — oh, 
no,  not  in  the  least  degree  ;  but  there  is  more  hope,  and 
more  calm  happiness  in  looking  forward,  than  I  could  then 
believe  that  any  earthly  prospect  could  afford  me.  I  want 
none  but  such  as  comes  from  God,  and  is  built  upon  his 
love  ;  and  I  shall  watch  my  deceitful  heart,  and  try  all 
things  by  the  test  of  his  word.  Heaven  is  the  only  place 
where  there  can  be  no  disappointment  or  sorrow,  and  the 
reason  is,  that  sin  is  banished  from  its  holy  mansions.  Then 
let  me  watch  against  sin,  or  the  supports  on  which  I  lean 
will  give  way,  and  pierce  me  through.  There  is  no  true 
peace,  but  such  as  cometh  from  above.' 


92  M  E  -AI  0  I  R     0  F 

Of  her  beloved  father,  whose  memory  was  present  to  her 
in  joy  and  sorrow,  and  never  failed  to  open  the  sluices  of 
filial  reverence  and  strong  affection,  she  writes  to  a  friend 
in  Kelso,  on  occasion  of  going  to  the  sculptors  to  see  a  mar- 
ble tablet  to  his  memory,  before  it  was  sent  to  the  place  of 
sepulture — a  tablet  which  was  a  token  of  affectionate  re- 
membrance from  his  parishioners  : — 

'  How  feeble  is  any  memorial  in  comparison  with  the 
affection  that  delights  to  linger  round  the  departed — to  re- 
call his  image — and  to  dwell  upon  his  words.  Is  it  not 
striking,  that  even  of  those  most  loved  and  most  lamented, 
it  may  be  so  truly  said,  *'  Their  memory  and  their  name  is 
gone  ?"  They  appeared  indispensable  to  the  performance 
of  a  thousand  duties,  and  their  removal  seemed  likely  to 
make  a  chasm  that  could  not  soon  be  filled ; — but  the  grave 
has  closed  over  them — they  are  gone — another  steps  into 
the  vacant  place,  taking  on  himself  the  duties,  and  acquir- 
ing the  interest  in  the  hearts  of  those  around  him,  which 
had  belonged  to  his  predecessor.  Is  it  not  well  that  a 
Christian's  home  and  happiness  are  in  heaven,  and  that, 
however  men  may  forget,  their  God  remembers  them  1  It 
makes  one  humble  to  see  how  easily  one's  part  is  taken, 
and  work  done  by  others  ;  but  at  such  times  the  unchang- 
ing love  of  God  becomes  unspeakably  precious.  To  try  to 
leave  our  lasting  remembrance  on  earth,  is  writing  our  name 
on  the  sand ;  but  if  our  Lord  has  written  it  on  the  palms  of 
his  hands,  we  need  not  care  how  quickly  the  restless  waves 
efface  it  from  the  earth.' 

These  extracts  have  brought  us  near  the  close  of  her 
twentieth  year.  But  before  leaving  it,  a  gleaning  from  the 
diary,  at  various  dates,  will  put  us  in  possession  of  her 
views  on  some  subjects,  and  the  uniform  state  of  her  soul, 
waiting  on,  and  following  hard  after  God  : — 

Diary. — '  June  26. — Last  night  I  read  Mr.  C.'s  account 
of  my  beloved  Isabella  Gordon,  with  many  tears  and  long- 
ings that,  if  God  takes  me  away  as  early,  I  may  be  as  will- 
ing to  go,  and  as  joyful  in  the  prospect  of  eternity.' — After 
going  minutely  through  the  details  of  that  touching  'entrance 
into  rest,'  she  sums  up  the  character  of  the  friend  she  so 
much  loved  and  admired,  and  whose  early  removal  so  much 
resembled  her  own  : — ♦  My  loved  friend  had  been,  she  fear- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  93 

ed,  too  happy  in  the  few  months  of  her  married  life.  She 
was  the  charm  of  her  circle.  *  *  She  lived  for 
the  happiness  of  others — there  was  a  crucifixion  of  self — 
her  love  of  truth,  and  her  tenderness  of  conscience  were 
great ; — it  was  her  constant  aim  to  be  useful  to  others.  * 
*  *  Who  would  not  wish  to  resemble  her  who  has 
been  so  suddenly  taken  from  us,  to  a  glorious  and  early 
eternity?  Never,  my  friend,  shall  I  forget  thee.  We  shall 
meet  again.' 

On  occasion  of  a  passing  fear  that  the  sojourn  of  a  friend 
from  a  far  country  in  her  mother's  house,  should,  in  some 
degree,  interfere  with  the  interchange  of  sentiment  between 
them,  she  wrote  :  — 

<  July  15. — I  must  conquer  that  pride,  which  makes  one 
averse  to  the  idea  of  being  laid  on  the  shelf  Why  should 
I  think  of  self  at  all.  Oh  !  my  F.,  [the  friend  in  the  south 
to  whom  her  most  interesting  letters  were  addressed,]  how 
unlike  is  my  spirit  to  thy  holy  and  submissive  one.  When 
shall  I  see  thee  ?  I  feel  as  though  thou  wouldst  shed  over 
me  a  part  of  thy  humble  and  steady  devotion.' 

''July  28. — Yesterday  my  heart  was  with  those  dear 
friends  at  Kelso  and  Ruthwell  who  compassed  the  altar  of 
the  Lord,  and  in  praying  for  them  my  soul  caught  a  portion 
of  the  love  of  Jesus.  It  is  true  that  blessings  sought  for 
others  are  returned  to  ourselves,  and  there  are  few  plea- 
sures like  that  of  communion  of  spirit  with  absent  friends, 
at  the  throne  of  mercy.' 

'  August  1. — Freedom  has  dawned  this  morning  on  the 
British  colonies.  No  more  degraded  lower  than  the  brutes 
— no  more  bowed  down  with  suffering  from  which  there  is 
no  redress — the  sons  of  Africa  have  obtained  the  rights  of 
fellow-subjects — the  rights  oi  man,  the  immortal  creation  of 
God.  Now,  they  may  seek  the  sanctuary,  fearless  of  the 
lash  ; — they  may  call  their  children  their  own.  Hope  will 
animate  their  hearts,  and  give  vigour  to  their  efforts.  Oh 
for  more  holy  men  to  show  them  the  way  of  salvation  ! 
The  Lord  keep  them  from  riot  and  idleness  !  They  have 
been  so  little  taught,  that  He  only  can  avert  confusion  and 
tumult,  as  the  result  of  their  joy.  Some  Christians  there 
are  among  their  number,  who  will  influence  the  others. 
My  poor  fellow-travellers  through  life's  short  wilderness, 


94  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

may  I  meet  with  many  of  you  in  heaven,  where  even  I 
can  hope  to  dwell,  through  the  love  of  my  risen  Lord  ! 
There  none  will  despise  the  negro,  whom  Jesus  has  pitied 
and  redeemed.' 

In  anticipation  of  a  highland  tour,  in  the  society  of  those 
she  most  loved,  she  writes  her  purposes  of  keeping  her  own 
heart,  and  aiding  the  hearts  of  her  associates  : — 

'August  24. — To-morrow,  D.  V.  we  shall  set  out  on  our 
long  anticipated  tour.  Will  it  bring  all  the  enjoyment  it  has 
promised?  I  wish  to  go  in  the  fear  of  God,  remembering 
him  in  whatever  company  I  am,  and  seeking  to  keep  those 
I  love  best  near  Him.  Oh  may  He  help  me  so  to  do  !  We 
shall  praise  jHim  in  his  beautiful  temple  :  and  glow  with 
love  to  Him  amid  the  wildness  and  magnificence  of  nature. 
What  double  joy  it  gives  to  be  his  children  !  What  sereni- 
ty to  go  out  leaning  on  him  !  I  heard  Mr.  Candlish,  on  the 
man  who  wished  to  save  his  five  brethren  from  hell. — His 
remarks  on  friends  loving  as  immortal  beings,  who  should 
only  regard  each  other  in  another  world  according  to  their 
mutual  influence  in  preparing  for  it,  were  beautiful,  and 
fired  my  desires,  as  well  as  those  of  W.  W.  D.,  who  was  in 
another  part  of  the  church,  to  walk  as  a  child  of  light,  and 
to  be  helpful  to  my  dear  ones  in  the  best  things ;  for  we 
shall  blend  our  voices  in  the  angelic  song  ;  and  it  is  sweet 
to  cherish  the  tenderest  bonds  only  in  the  Lord.' 

Diary, — '  September  19. — The  happy  month  is  ended 
this  day,  by  the  departure  of  the  last  ot  the  party.  Seldom 
have  expectations  of  enjoyment  been  so  well  realized,  as 
in  this  case.  A  portion  of  beautiful  weather,  magnificent 
scenery,  and  kind  friends,  have  made  this  a  season  of  much 
pleasure, — not  unmixed,  it  is  true,  but  what  is  in  this  world? 
The  scientific  meeting,  and  the  triumphal  coming  of  Earl 
Grey,  have  occupied  us  since  our  return.  We  had  one 
quiet  walk  to  the  Botanic  Gardens,  where  we  read  part  of 
a  sermon  on  prayer.  May  the  God  of  mercy  send  his 
Spirit  to  him  who  composed  and  preached  that  sermon,  that 
many  souls  may  be  the  fruit  of  his  labour  !  May  his  inward 
life  be  renewed  day  by  day  !  This  shall  be  my  prayer :  and 
oh  !  may  my  influence  be  of  a  holy  kind.  May  I  help  him 
to  resist  evil,  and  cherish  love  to  God,  and  purity  of  con- 
science.        *         *         #  This  morning  we  joined  in 


MARYLUNDIE     DUNCAN.  95 

prayer,  and  felt  it  sweet  to  commit  each  other  to  Him  who 
never  slumbers  ;  and  in  His  light  may  we  walk  till  we  meet 
again!  Last  night,  when  Dr.  D.,  &c.,  were  about  to  set 
out  by  the  night  mail,  we  all  knelt  together  and  prayed  for 
this  dear  but  separated  family.  There  is  a  joy  in  prayer. 
Oh  that  I  had  known  more  of  it  in  this  united  form  !  To- 
morrow, I  trust,  W.  W.  will  be  strengthened  in  body  and 
spirit,  for  the  performance  of  duty  ;  and  may  a  desire  of 
converting  sinners  be  his  first  and  ruling  motive.  "  The 
blessing  of  Him  who  dwelt  in  the  bush"  go  with  him.' 

Diary. — '  Dec.  1. — I  spent  the  evening  with  Miss , 

and  had  some  profitable  talk.  I  love  her  much,  and  feel 
more  alive  and  stedfast  after  such  hours.  The  reading  of 
Charles'  of  Bala's  life,, has  shown  me  what  God  can  do  in 
sanctifying  his  people,  and  making  them  meet  for  his  own 
inheritance,  and  I  hoped  it  was  the  beginning  of  better 
things  for  me,  and  that  to  live  to  Him,  and  have  his  will 
done  in  me  would  be,  as  I  have  often  resolved  and  broken, 
hereafter  much  more  my  object.  But  though  I  had  some 
time  of  prayer  that  refreshed  me,  pride  crept  in.'  Her  ex- 
perience of  this  chronic  disease,  which  has  been  the  afflic- 
tion of  the  children  of  Adam  ever  since  he  was  cast  out  of 
Eden,  and  which  has  forced  thousands  to  enter  into  the 
sympathies  of  Paul's  complaint,  '  when  I  would  do  good, 
evil  is  present  with  me,'  was,  at  this  time  of  good  and  hope- 
ful resolution,  specially  verified  ;  and  the  diary  traces  the 
causes  of  wounding  her  conscience,  Avith  simplicity,  and 
sincere  self-examination.  A  single  extract  is  given  to  show 
the  watch  she  kept  over  her  state  of  mind,  and  the  exact 
account  to  which  she  called  herself  for  every  emotion  on 
which  conscience  set  its  stigma.  *  On  Thursday  morning, 
rose  late,  and  had  little  time  to  pray.  On  the  way  to 
Stockbridge  school,  read  a  French  play,  which  so  occupied 
me  that  I  had  not  my  usual  interest  in  teaching  the  children. 
On  Friday  was  impatient  to  get  off  to  the  Canongate  school, 
and  was  rather  cross  in  hearing  my  sister's  history  lesson. 

In  the  evening  went  to   Mr.   's.     He  told  me  they 

thought  me  clever,  and  the  foolish  words  did  me  harm  the 
whole  evening.  I  felt  an  assumption  of  something.  *  * 
Next  day  I  sought  the  small,  too  much  neglected  chamber, 
where  I  have  so  often  poured  out  my  prayers  to  God.     I 


96  M  E  M  0  I  n     0  F 

had  scarce  visited  it  for  days, — a  friend's  presence  had  pre- 
vented me  having  it  to  myself.  Nothing  can  keep  the  heart 
but  converse  with  God  in  soUtnde.  Without  that,  confu- 
sion enters  ;  sins  prevail ;  and  on  awaking  we  find  we  have 
gone  backward.  I  wept  and  prayed  for  pardon,  and  a  new, 
entirely  new  heart.  I  thought  that  my  example  might  in- 
jure the  children,  whom  I  ought  to  lead  in  the  good  way.' 

This  is  the  closing  entry  in  the  diary  for  the  year  1834. 
Before  changing  the  date,  a  specimen  of  letters  to  Mr.  Dun- 
can may  be  useful,  as  exhibiting  the  turn  of  her  intellectual 
powers  when  at  ease,  and  the  course  of  her  reflections  on 
the  union  of  mind  with  another,  which  she  had  in  prospect. 

Extracts  of  letters  to  Mr.  Duncan  in  1834. 

*  Every  one  says  I  do  not  allow  myself  enough  of  sleep  ; 
but  when  my  days  are  much  broken  up,  the  still  evening 
hour  is  very  valuable  ;  and  if  I  am  awaked  by  a  bright 
sunbeam  at  early  morn,  how  can  I  but  spring  to  meet  it, 
and  snatch  some  calm  and  refreshing  thought  and  reading 
before  the  bustle  begins  ?  Are  not  these  reasons  valid  1 
Sometimes  I  fall  asleep  for  ten  minutes  (not  more)  during 
the  day,  and  feel  strengthened.  Oh !  how  little  can  I  do 
at  most !  How  ill  could  I  aflbrd  to  pass  as  many  hours  in 
the  land  of  forgetfulness  as  some  people  do  !  I  long  to 
spend  my  short  fast  fleeting  life,  as  an  intelligent  immortal 
being  ought,  "  redeeming  the  time,"  as  one  who  knows 
that  soon  the  record  of  her  deeds  will  be  filled  up.'    *     * 

*  Nov.  19. — I  know  not  if  I  ever  expressed  to  you  what  I 
have  often  felt,  that  if  I  was  losing  sight  of  my  mercies,  or 
forgetting  that  I  do  not  deserve  the  smallest  of  those  thou- 
sand blessings  that  have  been  given  me,  I  never  felt  any 
thing  more  salutary  than  a  visit  to  some  lowly  cottage, 
where  another  child  of  Adam,  and  perhaps  a  far  better 
child  of  God,  was  suff'ering  from  privation  or  pain.  Such 
a  sight  recalls  me  to  myself,  and  sends  me  away  humble 
and  grateful.  *  *  *  j  m\xsi  ask  you  to  thank  our  pre- 
server with  me,  for  an  escape  from  danger  I  was  uncon- 
sciously incurring  some  weeks  ago.  You  remember  the 
sick  woman  I  told  you  of.  The  doctors  had  not  ascertained 
the  nature  of  her  disease,  and  the  last  time  I  went,  her 
daughter  had  been  taken  ill.     It  has  been  too  surely  proved 


MARY      LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  97 

that  it  was  typhus  fever  ;  and  though  they  are  recovering, 
the  eldest  son,  on  whom  their  support  in  some  measure  de- 
pended, has  been  cut  off  in  three  days'  illness,  and  one  of 
the  little  children  is  very  ill.  Poor  things  !  I  hope  the 
hand  of  God  is  heavy  on  them  for  good  ;  but  I  knew  not 
that  I  was  going  where  I  might  be  seized  by  the  breath  of 
fatal  infection ;  but  my  God  who  watches  the  meanest  of 
his  flock,  has  shielded  me  from  danger. 

'  To-day  we  have  gone  through  the  Writers'  and  Advo- 
cates' Libraries,  and  while  we  admired  the  magnificence  of 
the  principal  rooms,  it  was  in  a  little  side  apartment  that  we 
paused,  for  there  the  Covenant  of  our  Fathers,  and  the 
Confession  of  Faith,  were  unfolded  to  us.  They  are  so- 
lemn and  affectinor  documents,  and  we  lono"  lin<iered  over 
the  writing,  dimmed  by  unsparing  time.  The  writing  of 
the  unfortunate  and  misguided  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  at- 
tracted our  attention.  How  could  a  lively,  elegant  young 
creature,  reared  in  France,  govern  the  Caledonians  of  the 
sixteenth  century  1  We  saw  a  flag  from  Flodden,  "  veri- 
las  vincit,^'  and  views  of  Edinburgh  one  hundred  and  forty 
years  ago,  when  the  Nor- Loch  flowed  over  the  site  of  the 
buildings  beneath  the  North  Bridge,  and  the  New  Town 
was  not.  It  is  bewildering  to  glance  over  so  many  books 
(the  collected  labours  of  centuries),  as  are  enclosed  within 
the  walls  of  these  Libraries, — it  is  so  small  an  inroad  one 
individual  can  make  on  their  massy  lore  !  so  little  of  the 
wisdom  that  is  scattered  throughout  the  world,  or  even  as- 
sembled in  a  room,  we  can  attain  to  ! 

'  But  if  we  be  "  wise  unto  salvation,"  and  steadily  ad- 
vance in  those  pursuits  that  enlarge  the  mind,  and  strengthen 
its  capacities,  living  as  the  children  of  the  Highest  ought 
to  live,  with  our  observant  faculties  alive  to  all  the  sources 
of  instruction  and  harmony  that  surround  us,  we  shall  be 
very  happy  here,  and  O  !  how  happy  in  those  regions, 
where  no  barrier  shall  oppose  our  mental  progress !  There 
is  intense  pleasure  in  the  full  exercise  of  every  faculty. 
What  will  the  delight  be,  where  a  bla.ze  of  heavenly  light 
discloses  to  us  the  counsels  and  the  character  of  the  Eter- 
nal ?  Does  it  not  animate  you  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge 
and  of  piety,  of  all  that  will  exercise  the  mind,  and  elevate 
devotion,  to  think  of  that  glorious  period  ?  O  !  let  us  fill 
9 


98  M  E  31  0  I  R      0  F 

up  wisely  our  little  day,  for  time  is  short.  Since  I  could 
think,  it  has  been  my  impression  that  our  individuality  of 
character  will  be  retained,  though  all  the  dross  be  purged 
away  in  heaven.  It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  particularly 
important  that  we  should  watch  the  formation  and  progress 
of  our  tastes,  habits,  and  joys  ;  for  who  would  not  desire 
to  be  as  like  the  angels  that  excel  as  they  can  be  permitted  ? 
AVho  would  bind  himself  down  to  comparative  lowness  ? — 
But  I  must  cease.  I  fear  that  I  am  degenerating  into  earth- 
ly feeling.  He  that  is  least  shall  be  greatest.  He  that 
lives  nearest,  in  humble  penitence  and  love,  to  his  benign 
Redeemer,  shall  be  most  blessed  among  the  enraptured 
throng.  Be  this,  then,  our  ambition,  the  only  destination 
we  aim  at,  to  live  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  abhorring  our- 
selves for  the  sins  that  made  the  Son  of  God  to  suffer  and 
die.  Redeeming  love  is  the  note  that  will  tremble  most 
sweetly  on  the  harps  of  eternity,  which  even  angels,  who 
have  not  required  an  atonement,  "  will  lean  to  hear."  There 
is  no  view  of  heaven  so  touching  and  so  lovely  as  that  in 
which  we  see  the  Lamb  of  God  dwelling  among  the  spirits 
he  has  so  dearly  bought,  and  feeling  repaid  for  his  pains 
and  agonies,  by  the  joy  that  fills  them,  and  the  grateful  and 
adoring  love  they  bear  to  him.' 

*  Edinburgh,  1834. — Quietness  is  a  great  delight ;  much 
more  is  accomplished,  when  you  are  not  startled  by  the 
thought  that  there  are  fifty  things  you  ought  to  do ;  and 
even  thought  flows  more  freely,  and  affection  wears  a 
sweeter,  calmer  aspect,  when  the  hours  glide  peacefully 
on,  and  contemplation  is  not  driven  away  by  life's  small  but 
engrossing  cares.  Yet,  to  make  quietness  pleasant,  there 
are  several  requisites.  The  heart  must  be  at  peace  with 
its  Maker,  and  feel  that  his  words  are  its  most  loved  medi- 
tation,— his  perfections  the  study  it  would  rest  on,  till  it  be- 
comes tinged  with  their  purity,  and  elevated  a  little  nearer 
to  their  sublime  meridian.  Then,  quietness  is  blest,  and 
those  with  whom  we  associate  must  be  kindred  spirits,  with 
the  same  aims  and  hopes,  and  some  congeniality  of  thought 
and  pursuit, — with  some  energy  to  keep  life  from  sluggish- 
ness, and  some  enthusiasm,  ready  to  kindle  at  all  that  is 
noble,  or  melt  at  the  sorrows  of  others, — to  stamp  the  flying 
moments  with  acts,  the  result  of  feelings  regulated  by  the 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  99 

word  of  God,  and  seeking  first  his  glory.  There  must  be 
ready  sympathy  in  each  other's  joy  or  pain,  and  such  an 
absence  of  "self,  that  in  its  exercise  our  personal  feelings 
will  often  be  forgotten  ;  and  "  to  remove  the  thorns  that 
wound  the  breast  we  love,"  will  be  the  dearest  employ  that 
the  round  of  earthly  things  can  furnish !  How  much  we 
can  give  a  character  to  our  days,  by  cherishing  the  best 
dispositions,  and  struggling  with  those  that  haunt  us  like 
spirits  of  darkness,  by  saying  at  once,  and  from  the  heart, 
I  am  thine,  O  Lord,  to  serve  thee  for  ever ;  to  shed  a  holy 
influence,  as  thou  dost  enable  me,  on  those  I  love  ;  to  enjoy, 
with  grateful  praise,  the  blessings  thou  hast  given  me  ;  and 
to  live  for  the  eternal  welfare  of  mankind.' 

*  Edinburgh,  Dec,  1334. — It  has  always  been  the  case 
with  me,  to  be  very  jealous  of  the  improvement  of  time. 
The  weeks  glide  'on,  and  mingle  with  the  irreclaimable 
past.  Is  our  improvement  commensurate  with  their  flight  ? 
Do  new  volumes  of  nature's  wonderful  book  unfold  their 
stores  to  us  ?  Do  more  just  and  philosophical  ideas  super- 
sede those  which  might  have  been  crudely  and  rashly 
formed  ?  Does  deeper  knowledge  of  Scripture  grow  upon 
us,  showing  the  riches  of  divine  wisdom,  as  it  was  not  felt 
before,  and  causing  our  hearts,  in  understanding  the  love  of 
God,  to  expand  with  charity  to  all  mankind?  while  that 
charity  manifests  itself  in  acts  of  self-denying  and  holy 
zeal  to  those  who  are  placed  within  our  sphere.  Such  in- 
quiries throng  on  me,  as  Sabbath  succeeds  Sabbath — those 
weekly  marking-places,  that  tell  us  time  is  gone.  I  would 
fain  rescue  it  from  vain  oblivion,  by  doing  something  that 
might  leave  a  more  perceptible  effect  on  my  mind  than  my 
occupations,  necessarily  rather  desultory,  have  had  this 
Avinter.  It  is  sad  to  feel  energies  within,  that  are  not  called 
into  play,  and  to  know  that  the  gathered  wisdom  of  time  is 
resting  on  shelves,  while  we  may  be  living  in  indolent  qui- 
escence, only  half  alive  to  its  existence,  and  content  tft 
wend  our  silent  way,  like  a  slow  stream,  to  life's  close 
without  it.  You  may  remind  me,  that,  when  that  period 
comes,  it  will  but  little  signify  whether  the  noblest  thoughts 
have  found  admission  to  our  hearts,  or  whether  small  and 
simple  labours  have  fallen  to  our  hands,  and  the  mind  sought 
little  more  than  they  could  furnish  for  its  aliment,  provided 


100  M  E  31  0  I  R      OF 

the  one  tiling  needful  were  secure.  True  ;  but  the  mental 
powers,  if  thrown  in  upon  themselves,  sustain  severe  injury, 
and  may  fall  into  a  deep  sleep,  which  often  terminates  only 
with  life  ;  Avhile  their  healthful  and  vigorous  exercise  dou- 
bles their  capabilities,  and  adds  a  second  life,  as  it  were,  to 
the  happy  man  who  has  seized  them  betimes,  as  his  por- 
tion. And  the  "  one  thing  needful"  is  fraught  with  themes 
for  thought,  that  ennoble  and  refine  more  than  earth's  fairest 
scenes.  *  *  *  But  I  might  thus  run  on  all  day.  The 
sum  of  the  matter  is  this,  that  I  mean  to  read  more,  if  pos. 
sible,  and  to  take  such  books  as  Jebb  and  Lowth  for  my 
companions,  that,  while  my  taste  is  gratified,  it  may  be  by 
means  of  the  best  things  ;  and  that,  while  my  mind  is  in- 
formed, it  may  be  fixed  on  the  central  point  of  bliss.  And 
you,  dear  friend, — are  your  hours  conscientiously  spent  in 
hnprovement  ?  I  often  muse  on  those  circumstances  which 
have  thrown  one  so  fond  of  action  into  a  state  of  seclusion 
and  ease  for  a  time.  *'        *         The  motives  which 

should  urge  you  to  diligence  in  study,  you  know  ;  the  happy 
effect  of  it,  experience  would  teach.  Will  you  not  try  to 
do  something  that  may  make  this  winter  a  bright  spot  to 
look  back  to  ?  I  commit  you  again  and  again  to  God.  I 
am  comforted  by  the  sweet  expressions  of  submission  that 
sometimes  fall  from  your  pen.  Still  I  fear  that  your  charac- 
ter may  not  be  improved,  as  it  ought,  by  those  wise  but 
mysterious  dispensations  that  have  given  colour  to  your 
lot.  *  *  You  speak  of  being  left  like  a  spade  to  rust. 
Nay,  but  you  are  being  highly  tempered  that  you  may  be 
of  more  efficient  service  :  an(^  it  is  far  indeed  from  the  in- 
tent of  the  gracious  Husbandman,  to  let  rust  and  damp  settle 
on  you.  May  we  both  be  enabled  to  submit  to  the  requisite 
discipline,  and  let  our  Lord  make  of  us  what  he  will.' 

*  Edinburgh,  Dec,  1834.—  *  *  =*  Oh,  my  dear  W., 
does  not  every  day  show  more  of  the  evils  of  our  alienated 
hearts  !  I  tremble  to  speak  of  my  own  state,  for  hard  ex- 
perience has  proved  me  irresolute  and  fluctuating  to  the  last 
degree.  Yet  to  you  I  shall  say,  that,  for  some  weeks  past, 
I  have  been  seeking  that  precious,  but  very  difficult  attain- 
ment, a  "  single  eye,"  to  see  God  always,  to  do  his  com- 
mandments, and  reverence  his  presence,  not  only  in  hours 
of  retirement,  but  whatever  I  do.     The  attempt  shows  me 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  101 

my  extreme  feebleness  ;  and  when  I  remember  that  it  is 
six  years  and  a  half  since  I  came  to  the  table  of  the  Lord, 
resolved  to  give  up  all  my  soul  to  him,  sadness  fills  my 
heart ;  for  how  many,  who  did  not  know  him  then,  have 
far  outstript  me  since  !  He  has  given  me  mercies  and  chas- 
tisements, like  a  tender  parent ;  yet  I  am  only  on  the  very 
threshold  of  the  temple.  Oh,  when  shall  I  be  a  lively  stone, 
firmly  built  in,  and  resting  on,  the  Chief  Corner  Stone  1  I 
have  had  some  pleasant  tim^s  of  prayer,  and  sometimes 
felt  the  blessing  of  continuing  in  a  praying  spirit ;  but  it 
seems  as  if  the  turning  of  a  feather  were  enough  to  take  it 
away.  I  never  have  felt  more  awake  to  the  influence  com- 
panions have  on  the  state  of  the  mind.  With  the  giddy  or 
hardened,  the  sweet  savour  of  spirituality  is  weakened  ; 
while  those  who  live  near  to  God,  lead  us  to  him.  Inter- 
course with  such  is  one  of  our  highest  blessings.     I  have 

seen  more  of  my  sweet  friend  Miss  ,  than  usual,  and 

each  time  have  returned  refreshed  and  happy.  My  love  for 
such  associates  is  very  strong  and  decided.  My  own  will 
would  be  always  to  be  with  those  who  are  much  more  ex- 
perienced than  I.  But  this  is  selfish.  I  want  to  work  for 
my  Master  among  poor  wanderers,  and  should  rejoice  to 
lead  any  nearer  to  him ;  yet  I  am  so  much  more  apt  to  re- 
ceive injury  from  those  who  are  not  decidedly  pious,  than 
to  do  them  good,  that  time  past  with  them  is  commonly  sub- 
ject  of  after  regret.  I  am  nothing  but  weakness,  but  my 
Saviour  is  strong.  Is  it  not  delightful  to  come  home,  as  I 
did  the  other  evening,  from  Miss ,  with  the  heart  glow- 
ing and  filled  with  love  to  God?  Oh!  W.,  I  wish  you 
knew  my  friend  :  her  consistency  and  devotion  "^of  heart 
are  beautiful.  I  wonder  she  can  be  at  the  trouble  to  speak 
to  me.  But  she  sees  that  I  love  her  much,  and  she  wishes 
to  do  me  good  for  the  sake  of  Jesus.  We  are  both  much 
occupied,  but  the  few  times  Avhen  we  can  meet  brighten 
my  days  greatly.  Our  friendship  is  of  an  entirely  Chris- 
tian character.  I  do  not  think  we  ever  had  five  minutes' 
talk  on  any  other  subject,  and  she  is  an  intellectual  Chris- 
tian ;  so  you  may  fancy  our  style  of  converse.  *  *  * 
Jeany  has  come  at  last !  (The  "  Orphan's  Stay"  formerly 
alluded  to.)  It  looks  small  in  print,  and  is  a  very  feeble  tran- 
script of  my  friend's  eventful  life,  yet  I  hope  even  it  may  be 
9* 


102  MEMOIR     OF 

useful  to  some.  It  is  not  without  its  good  effect  to  print  a 
little.  It  shows  the  smallness  of  one's  attainments,  as  they 
might  not  have  been  discovered  if  not  so  called  out. 

*  May  a  blessing  ever  follow  you, — ever  keep  your  heart, 
making  you  a  shining  light ;  drawing  you  near  to  the  gates 
of  heaven,  and  enabling  you  to  lead  many  thither  with  you. 
Such  are  the  breathings  of  my  soul  for  you,  and  more  nu- 
merous and  more  distinct  than  these.  The  God  of  peace 
will  fulfil  all  our  petitions.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  103 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CORRESPONDENCE. 

The  event  which  most  delighted  her  mind  in  the  opening 
of  the  year  1835,  was  a  letter  from  a  London  school-fellow, 
whose  intellectual  powers  and  pleasant  temper  had  always 
endeared  her,  but  who  hitherto  had  been  alien  to  the  cove- 
nant of  peace,  and  though  educated  carefully  in  the  Chris- 
tian path,  had  delayed  to  unite  herself  to  Christ.  The  revo- 
lution,  wrought  by  all- subduing  grace  in  her  heart,  had  re- 
vived the  remembrance  of  Mary  Lundie,  and  she  wrote  to 
her  for  the  first  time.  The  tearful  but  beaming  joy  with 
which  the  glad  news  was  received,  was  far  beyond  what 
appears  in  the  reply  to  that  communication.  Yet  a  portion 
of  it  may  be  interesting. 

'  Edinburgh,  January,  1835.—*  *  Though  the  casual 
mention  of  your  name  in  letters  was  all  I  had  heard  of  you, 
yet  the  very  pleasant  school  days  we  passed  together  were 
not  forgotten,  and  I  have  often  thought  of  you  enjoying  a 
lively  chat  with  Miss  Isabella  Gordon  in  the  short  time  be- 
fore morning  lessons  began.  You  will  smile  at  the  part  of 
the  day  I  have  fixed  on,  but  whether  it  be  that  this  associ- 
ates you  with  one  I  so  much  loved,  or  from  some  other 
cause  I  know  not,  this  scene  brings  you  more  vividly  be- 
fore me  than  any  other.  But,  if  I  loved  you  before,  your 
letter  draws  my  heart  toward  you  much  more,  for  it  con- 
tains expressions  of  a  change  of  heart  which  mark  you  as 
blessed  indeed.  I  thank  God,  my  dear  friend,  that  he  has 
permitted  you  to  find  the  pearl  of  great  price  that  will  not 
elude  your  grasp  when  earthly  things  fade  away.  May 
the  God  of  all  power  keep  you'stedfast,  and  teach  you  daily 
more  of  himself !  The  hidden  life  of  converse  with  him 
is  full  of  peace— but  oh  !  how  easily,  when  we  neglect  it, 
do  our  weak  hearts  fall  away,  and  lose  the  nearness  to  him, 
which  makes  us  feel,  though,  alas,  at^few  and  short  inter- 
vals, that  heaven  is  not  a  land  very  far  oflf !     Always,  dear 


104  MEMOIROF 

M.  A.,  have  I  thought  that  our  heavenly  Father  had  purpo- 
ses of  mercy  towards  you.  You  were  the  child  of  many 
prayers  ;  and  even  when  you  have  turned  away  with  a 
smile,  from  any  thing  relating  to  religion,  I  sometimes 
thought  the  smile  was  assumed,  more  to  hide  what  you  felt, 
than  because  you  did  not  feel.  And  now,  you  have  chosen 
the  right  way,  in  the  full  vigour  of  your  judgment,  and  with 
the  consent  of  your  whole  heart,  and  I  can  understand  the 
new  happiness  the  choice  has  given  you, — you  have  my 
earnest  prayers  that  the  blessing  of  God  may  follow  you 
continually. 

♦  I  am  reading  a  book  by  our  old  friend  Sharon  Turner, 
over  whose  prolix  history  we  spent  some  of  our  mornings 
at  No.  69,—"  The  Sacred  History  of  the  World  ;"  and  I 
amuse  our  circle  at  dinner  by  telling  how  excellent  he  has 
found  thistles  as  artichokes,  and  dandelions  as  lettuce,  not 
to  mention  the  fine  bread  which  can  be  made  from  either 
saw-dust  or  bones.  But  I  cannot  get  the  creatures  to  do 
any  thing  but  laugh  at  these  enlightened  statements,  which 
would  well  nigh  erase  the  name  oi  famine  from  the  page 
of  human  sufferings.  But,  seriously,  the  book  is  worth 
reading,  and  I  have  a  great  regard  for  the  worthy  old  gen- 
tleman who  wrote  it.  Believe  me  (in  the  hope  that  you 
will  again  write  to  me,)  very  aff"ectionately  yours.' 

Letter  to  her  correspondent  near  London, 
Edinburgh,  Jan,  16,  1835. —  *  *  I  have  had  much 
comfort  in  thinking  of  you  since  recei^dng  your  last  kind 
letter,  it  is  so  fully  expressive  of  the  peace  which  our 
blessed  Lord  makes  his  children  to  know  in  the  day  of 
trial,  when  more  than  at  any  other  time,  he  makes  himself 
known  in  the  fulness  of  His  covenant  love.  Is  that  sup- 
port still  continued,  my  beloved  friend,  and  can  you  still  say 
all  is  well  ?  Has  God  made  your  soul  to  grow  in  this  afflict- 
ive season,  and  have  you  felt  the  sweetness  of  communing 
with  him,  and  so  renewing  your  strength  when  it  was  ready 
to  fail  ?  Those  times  of  prayer,  though  alas  !  too  seldom 
experienced  by  me,  wherein  we  can  pour  out  our  whole 
hearts  before  the  Lord,  and  feel  that  he  is  speaking  peace 
to  our  souls,  and  that  we  are  indeed  united  to  our  Holy  Sa- 
viour, are  worth  whole  days  of  distraction  by  the  things  of 


MARY      LUND  IE      DUNCAN.  105 

time.  In  those  short  and  hallowed  glimpses  of  the  charac- 
ter of  God,  there  is  some  faint  realization  of  what  our  feel- 
ings will  be,  when  all  the  storms  and  all  the  deadening 
calms  of  life  are  past,  and  we  have  entered  into  the  rest 
that  remaineth.  But  at  present  the  calms  are  more  danger- 
ous to  me  than  the  tempest.  Day  follows  day,  and  I  make 
little  advance  in  the  way  I  have  so  long  loved.  Do  you 
pray  for  me,  dear  F — ?  Do  you  ask  Him,  who  has  re- 
deemed my  soul  from  death, — to  preserve  my  feet  from 
falling  ?  I  should,  indeed,  be  discouraged,  did  I  only  re- 
member myself,  my  deadness  of  heart,  and  my  frequent 
forgetfulness  of  my  best  friend.  But  I  look  on  my  risen 
Redeemer,  and  hope  revives  :  I  will  cling  to  him  as  long  as 
I  live,  the  Lord  enabling  me.  There  are  moments  when 
I  long  for  a  friend  to  whom  I  could  unfold  all  my  heart, 
and  from  whose  faithful  counsel  and  Christian  love  I  might 
derive  much  benefit  and  comfort.  I  think  you  would  be 
that  friend,  were  you  near.  There  is  one  here,  and  when 
circumstances  permit  us  to  meet,  a  sweet  savour  is  shed 
around  more  than  one  succeeding  day. — I  have  many 
Christian  friends,  but  it  requires  an  attraction  of  heart, 
which  may  be  better  felt  than  described,  to  fill  exactly  the 
place  Miss does.  Now,  do  not  think  me  a  roman- 
tic girl,  for  my  love  to  her  is  founded  on  love  to  God  ;  she 
is  older,  and  her  experience  much  greater  than  mine  ;  her 
singleness  of  aim  marks  her  as  one  "  whom  the  Lord  hath 
blessed."  You  will  tell  me  to  look  to  Him  for  the  support 
I  too  much  seek  in  earthly  friendship. — I  do  ;  and  he  is 
ever  willing  to  draw  near  to  my  sou],  whether  burthened 
with  anxiety,  or  deadened  by  intercourse  with  the  world. — 
I  do  not  love  the  world,  and  its  atmosphere  is  not  that  I  de- 
sire to  breathe — yet  of  late  my  circle  of  acquaintance  has 
enlarged,  though  I  am  always  trying  to  keep  it  small,  and 
I  have  lost  some  time  in  visiting,  which  I  cannot  spare. 
Does  not  life  appear  very  short  and  uncertain  to  you  now  ? 
And  do  you  not  long  to  spend  it  all  to  the  glory  of  God  ? 
We  have  no  time  to  trifle,  and  the  years  which  so  swiftly 
mingle  with  the  waters  of  eternity,  admonish  us  that  the 
record  of  our  days,  in  the  book  of  God,  is  coming  nearer 
to  its  close  ;  and  oh,  what  peace  is  in  the  hope  that  we 
are  awaiting  that  period  in  the  strength  of  our   Saviour  ! 


106  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

*  *  *  Death  is  not  dreadful  to  those  who  hope  in 
Jesus.  I  have  been  struck  with  the  answer  of  a  little 
child  to  a  dear  friend  of  ours,  who  did  not  leave  him  during 
months  of  severe  suffering.  She  asked  him  if  he  feared 
to  die  ?  He  looked  earnestly  in  her  face  and  said,  "  I  don't 
know  much  about  the  pain  of  dying  ;  I  have  not  thought 
much  of  it, — but  surely  you  don't  mean  to  ask  me  if  I  am 
afraid  to  go  where  Jesus  is,  and  to  see  my  own  mamma?" 
There  is  something  in  the  confiding  faith  of  babes,  that 
speaks  more  to  the  heart  than  the  most  erudite  discourse 
could  do.  It  is  felt  to  be  truth,  and  Jesus  is  shown  forth 
in  the  glory  of  his  love  as  a  "  teacher  of  babes."  Let  us 
receive  His  teaching  in  the  same  spirit,  and  try,  as  the 
lowly  Tersteegen  did,  to  forget  self  in  His  presence.  Have 
you  seen  his  life  ?  It  is  full  of  spirituality,  and  well  repays 
a  careful  reading.  Some  passages  are  rather  mystical, 
but  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  met  with  so  beautiful 
an  example  of  poverty  of  spirit.  He  was  made  the  in- 
strument of  bringing  many  to  the  cross,  though  his  constant 
desire  was  to  be  permitted  to  be  alone  with  God.  Public 
speaking  was  self-denial  to  him,  but  it  was  richly  blessed. 
That  book  has  given  a  colour  to  my  thoughts  for  the  last 
few  weeks.  Will  you  tell  me  if  any  thing  has  been  in- 
teresting you  lately,  and  I  shall  try  to  read  it  too.  You 
know  my  delight  in  sympathizing  with  friends  in  Christ  on 
sacred  subjects.  I  have  gone  on  steadily  reading  Watts' 
Hymns,  though  I  have  little  hope  that  I  have  been  accom- 
panied by  you — you  were  too  sadly  interrupted.  Will 
you  now  join  me  in  reading  each  evening,  the  little  book  I 
send.  Many  passages  are  very  sweet,  and  afford  matter 
for  improving  thought.  We  both  love  the  psalms,  and 
these  reflections  will  not  make  us  love  them  less.' 

Diary. — ^  Feb.  1. — The  second  month  of  1835  commen- 
ces with  a  Sabbath.  This  day  shOuld  be  helpful  to  me,  in 
serving  God  through  the  whole  month.  It  may  originate 
resolutions  to  live  to  God,  and  He  may  so  draw  near  me, 
in  answer  to  prayer,  that  I  may  know  the  joy  of  his  presence. 
In  reflecting  on  the  circumstance  of  my  having  so  little  real 
Christian  joy,  I  find  the  reason  stated  in  some  book,  in  a 
way  that  conscience  feels  to  be  true.  "  Joy  is  incompati- 
ble with  a  careless  walk."     I  know  my  walk  is  such.     I 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  107 

lose  the  savour  of  ditine  things,  and  trifles  turn  me  out  of 
the  way.  The  course  to  take,  is  to  determine  that,  what- 
ever are  the  employments  of  the  day,  I  will  make  this  my 
first  object,  and  seek  to  get  my  thoughts  disengaged  from 
earth,  and  fixed  on  divine  things.  It  too  often  happens  that  , 
they  wander,  and  I  do  not  know  what  I  need,  or  what  to 
ask  for.  There  are,  indeed,  various  hindrances ;  but  may 
God  pour  out  on  me  the  spirit  of  prayer  and  supplication  ; 
while  I  muse,  make  the  fire  to  burn.  Now,  let  me  seek 
more  solemnity  in  coming  before  Him,  remembering  to 
whom  I  speak  ;  and  more  know^dge  of  my  sins ;  and  more 
particular  confession,  and  casting  away  of  each ;  and  a 
clearer  sense  of  the  wonderful  love  of  Jesus,  who  casts 
them  all  away;  and  to  feel  the  Spirit's  teaching,  who  can 
make  light  to  shine  in  a  dark  place,  and  then  my  times  of 
prayer  will  be  exceeding  precious.  On  the  morning  of  the 
5th,  I  fainted  at  four  o'clock.  My  strength  was  turned  to 
weakness,  and  I  felt  how  soon  I  might  he  cut  oflT,  in  the 
midst  of  my  days.  I  saw  my  dependance  on  God  for  every 
breath,  and  for  the  strength  which  I  have  so  often  misap- 
plied. I  desire  to  have  a  near  view  of  death,  that  I  may 
live  prepared  to  meet  it.  When  Jesus  speaks  peace  it  is 
not  dreadful-  I  want  such  a  clear  view  of  my  acceptance 
in  him,  as  will  take  away  the  monster's  sting.  That  morn- 
ning  I  read  Halyburton's  dying  experience.  His  end  was 
peace.' 

To  her  correspondent  near  London, 

'  Edinburgh,  March  5. — I  thank  you  much,  my  very 
dear  friend,  for  your  two  precious  letters.  The  last  arriv- 
ed was  peculiarly  touching,  because  it  referred  to  one  who 
was  the  object  of  your  anxious,  yet  hoping,  solicitude,  when 
it  was  written,  but  has  for  some  time  been  in  another 
sphere,  drinking  in  the  streams  of  living  water  from  their 
source,  and  learning  more  of  the  hidden  things  of  God  than 
we  can  know  till  we  have  crossed  the  Jordan.  It  brought 
home  to  me  the  feeling  that  "  life  is  a  vapour,"  to  read  the 
expressions  of  your  resigned  hope,  and  your  anxiety  that 
the  Lord  might  be  with  your  poor  sufferer  during  his  ill- 


108  MEMOIR      OF 

ness  *     How  completely  all  such  feelings  are  now  swal- 
lowed up,  and  exchanged  for  those  of  gratitude  and  triumph 
for  him  as  one  of  the  redeemed  of  the  earth.     You  can  now 
no  longer  minister  to  him — you  can  now  no  longer  pray  for 
him  :  all  that  is  past.     But  your  faith  has  been  strengthen- 
ed by  the  trial ;    and  you  have  had  a  Pisgah  view  of  Ca- 
naan in  parting  with  him. — in  going  with  him  to  the  shore, 
where  you  were  obliged  for  a  little  while  to  remain  behind, 
and  to  commit  him  entirely,  and  without  putiing  in  your 
claim  for  self,  to  Him  to  whom  he  indeed  belongs.     Oh  ! 
my  dear  friend,  it  is  sweet  to  praise  God  when  all  is  smil- 
ing around  us, — when  our  cup  runs  over,  and  we  are  rejoic- 
ing in  His  gifts  ;  but  His  love  is  more  fully  manifested  in  the 
time  of  great  tribulation,  when  we  are  called  to  part  with  our 
dearest  treasures,  and  to  have  the  roots  of  our  affections 
torn  up  ;  it  is  then  that  He  shows  himself  as  an  all-suffi- 
cient portion,  and  makes  the  darkest  hour  the  most  resem- 
ble heaven,  by  hiding  creature-comforts  from  our  view,  and 
far  more  than  supplying  their  place  by  His  own  presence. 
We,  my  dear  friend,  have  had  many  proofs  of  his  unchang- 
ing love.     Oh  !  is  there  in  our  hearts  the  glowing  devotion 
which  these  should  inspire  ?  1  often  wonder  at  my  cold  and 
unsteady  heart,  and  adore  the  patience  that  so  long  waiteth 
to  be  gracious.     Much  more  shall  I  wonder  when  my  eyes 
are  opened  in  another  world,  that  momentary  shadows  could 
have   so  much  power  to  turn  me  aside  and  mingle  in  such 
undue  proportion  with  the  glorious,  the  immortal  realities  of 
eternity.     Affliction  places  us  on  an  eminence  whence  we 
look  round  and  see  the  true  magnitude  of  objects,  and  learn 
how  small  are  those  that  in  their  seasons  have  seemed  great 
to  us,  and  how  unworthy  of  a  thought  are  many  that  may 
have  been  suffered  to  mingle  with  our  breathings  towards 
God  in  time  of  devotion.     But  how  great  is  the  perversion 
of  spirit  which  renders  affliction  a  necessary  instrument  to 
show  us  this  in  its  force.     We  should  be  happy  beings  if 
such  a  view  of  things  ever  remained  with  us.     Convinced 
of  this,  let  us  seek  by  constant  prayer  to  maintain  the  reign 

*  This  letter  was  accidentally  delayed,  till  some  time  after  another 
had  been  read,  which  showed  that  the  throb  of  all  these  trembling  pulses 
had  ceased,  and  the  suffering  tenement  was  left  vacant. 


MARY     L  U  N  D  I  E     DUNCAN.  109 

of  God  in  our  souls,  to  dethrone  his  enemies,  and  live  in 
the  healthful  atmosphere  of  humble  repentance  and  earnest 
devotion.  What  might  we  become  if  we  always  hearken- 
ed to  the  voice  of  the  Spirit  within  us  1 

*  Have  you  not  felt,  dearest  F •,  when  troubled  about 

your  own  state,  that  if  the  Lord  enabled  you  to  work  for 
him,  you  were  greatly  comforted,  and  could  look  up  to  him 
with  more  steady  hope  than  before  1  Every  day  convinces 
me,  that,  to  spend  any  part  of  our  time  and  strength  in  feed- 
ing his  lambs,  or  binding  the  wounds  of  the  weary  ones  of 
his  flock,  is  not  only  our  honour  and  privilege,  but  our 
greatest  help  to  advancement  in  the  Christian  course.  It 
is  not  only  that  lessons  of  faith  are  learned  beside  the 
death-beds  of  the  afflicted,  or  that,  in  explaining  the  truth 
to  the  young,  it  breaks  with  greater  clearness  on  ourselves  ; 
but,  by  using  the  talent  entrusted  to  us  by  our  God,  it  be- 
comes two  or  more  :  For  he  lays  liberally  to  the  hand  of 
those  who  desire  to  be  spent  for  his  glory.  How  good  is 
he,  in  placing  us  where  we  have  opportunities  to  help  one 
of  the  least  of  these  his  children!  *  *  j  rejoice 
that  your  dear  sister  has  joined  the  visible  church,  and 
trust  that  He  who  has  begun  to  teach  her  will  lead  her  all 
the  days  of  her  life.  What  a  happy  feeling  must  be  expe- 
rienced in  leading  the  youngest  of  a  pious  family  to  the  altar 
of  the  Lord.  Oh  !  how  earnestly  I  desire  that  my  dear  lit- 
tle brothers  and  sisters  may  all  be  made  partakers  of  the 
grace  of  life.  I  think  they  will.  The  thought  never  rests 
on  my  mind,  that  ojie  should  be  ignorant  of  all  that  it  is  im- 
portant to  know  ;  for  grace  is  free,  and  God  is  the  hearer 
of  prayer.  *  *  ]_  tremble  to  think  of  my  influ- 
ence over  the  dear  friend  I  mentioned,  but  strength  may  be 
made  perfect  in  utter  weakness.  It  is  my  desire  to  look 
beyond  all  passing  scenes,  to  my  journey's  end  ;  and  my 
God  never  leaves  me  long  without  some  admonition.  *  * 
You  and  I,  dear  friend,  have  the  sweet  hope,  that,  whatever 
befalls  us,  nothing  can  separate  us  from  the  love  of  Jesus.' 

The  letter  which  follows,  makes  the  first  mention  of  se- 
vere headaches,  from  which  she  suffered,  upon  almost 
every  great  exertion,  till  the  finaLdisease.  The  Sabbath  ser- 
vices, attendance  on  any  public  meeting,  her  schools,  all 
that  interested  her,  or  moved  her  feelings,  produced  the 
10 


110  MEMOIR     OF 

same  distressing  result;  so  that  her  early  rising,  perseve- 
rance in  the  use  of  her  pen,  pencil,  books,  and  needle,  seem 
on  recollection  to  have  almost  surpassed  the  power  of  na- 
ture. She  pursued  her  occupations  under  acute  pain,  which 
was  only  betrayed  by  flushed  cheeks,  and  heavy  eyes, 
when  a  person  with  less  energy,  or  with  less  sacred  motive 
to  action,  would  have  reclined  on  a  sofa,  and  thought  her- 
self exonerated  from  all  exertion. 

To  the  Rev.  W.  W.  Duncan. 

«  Edinburgh,  Feb.  25. —  *  *  My  head  began  to  ache, 
so  that  I  waited  from  hour  to  hour,  thinking  I  should  like 
to  be  better  able  to  write.  But  the  foe  has  not  departed. 
These  headaches  have  been  my  frequent  companions  for 
about  six  weeks.  I  am  tired  of  them;  but  am  trying  to 
learn  in  patience  to  possess  my  soul.  A  dull  submission, 
because  I  cannot  help  it,  is  most  comfortless.  I  would 
seek  a  willing  resignation  to  the  will  of  God,  and  make  the 
more  careful  use  of  my  hours  of  health,  because  they  are 
abridged.  I  trust  I  shall  derive  good  from  whatever  my 
Lord  may  appoint  for  me,  and  learn  to  value,  not  too  high- 
ly, a  world  where  pain  is  a  necessary  discipline  to  fit  me 
for  an  eternal  heritage.  Blessed  abode,  where  pain  is  ex- 
cluded, and  sin,  that  deadly  evil,  can  pollute  no  more  !  Oh! 
for  habitual  nearness  to  that  Redeemer  who  has  prepared 
it  for  us.  I  have  occasionally  found,  so  deceitful  is  my 
heart  in  its  best  moments,  that  at  prayer  miy  thoughts  have 
been  prevented  from  fixing  long  enough  on  my  own  case, 
by  the  prayer  for  you  that  is  ever  ready  to  spring  from  my 
heart.  Ah,  what  close  watching  is  needful  to  keep  it  right ! 
I  am  surely  more  unsteady  and  unteachable  than  others ; 
but,  I  do  trust,  I  am  in  the  school  of  Christ.  He  will  cor- 
rect me  with  the  rod,  when  the  gentle  voice  of  love  is  in- 
sufficient. Is  it  not  blessed  to  have  such  a  teacher,  one 
who  will  never  forsake  us,  even  when  we  are  untrue  to  our- 
selves 1  Let  us  be  his  humble  observant  disciples.  My 
headaches  are  generally  removed  by  a  night's  rest ;  so  you 
see  there  is  nothing  that  requires  great  fortitude.  Indeed, 
I  should  not  have  said  all  this  about  it,  had  I  not  been  actu- 
ally sufTering  while  I  write.  But  how  selfish  to  write  all 
this,  and  not  a  word  of  the  events  and  hopes  which  have 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  Ill 

been  recently  so  much  the  theme  of  your  thoughts.  They 
have  been  much  mine  too  ;  and  I  long  to  know  what  may 
have  befallen  since  you  wrote.  Is  your  mind  calm,  and 
resting  solely  on  the  divine  disposal,  and  are  you  searching 
for  all  the  motives  that  may  influence  you?  Oh!  how  well 
it  is  to  find  all  our  happiness  in  God,  so  that  dark  clouds  do 
not  harm  us,  nor  the  bright  days  of  accomplished  hope  di- 
vide us  from  him  !  Such  a  state  would  be  surely  nearer  hea- 
ven than  aught  else  upon  earth.  Such  Tersteegen  attain- 
ed, and  why  should  not  we?  When  I  reflect  on  the  influ- 
ence we  mutually  possess,  I  tremble  for  your  responsibility 
and  for  mine.  Let  it  be  used  in  drawing  each  other  to  the 
source  of  all  our  blessings. 

*  There  is  in  the  Canongate  an  old  Irish  woman,  who  is 
much  an  object  of  interest  to  me.  She  lost  a  daughter, 
whom  she  much  loved,  and  during  the  months  that  have 
since  elapsed,  she  has  had  many  thoughts  of  her  spiritual 
condition,  and  desires  to  serve  the  God  she  has  so  long  neg- 
lected. She  still  looks  too  much  to  her  own  eflbrts,  and 
though  they  all  prove  vain,  she  still  seems  to  think  she  can 
do  something  for  herself.  "  Oh !  I  am  too  unworthy,"  she 
says,  "  I  try  to  do  my  duty,  and  to  pray,  but  my  heart  wan- 
ders too  much.  I  cannot  live  so  near  God  as  I  ought."  She 
does  not  yet  see  that  Jesus  died  for  the  chief  of  sinners,  and 
that  no  work  of  hers,  however  free  from  wandering,  is  fit  to 
present  to  God  without  being  washed  in  his  blood.  She 
has  not  the  peace  and  hope  that  come  from  a  sense  of  this 
cleansing  and  all-suflicient  sacrifice.  It  is  touching  to  see 
the  tears  rolling  down  her  thin  cheeks,  and  to  hear  her  seek- 
ing help  from  one  so  unfit  to  give  it  as  I,  who  am  but  a  child 
compared  to  her,  and  doubly  a  child  as  it  regards  the  know- 
ledge of  the  counsel  of  God.  I  wish  I  had  more  wisdom, 
and  above  all,  strength  constantly  to  practise  what  I  do 
know.  Help  me  to  pray  for  this  woman.  I  fear  lest  she 
should  forget  her  impressions  when  the  season  of  grief 
passes  away.' 

Lest  some  prudent  persons  should  question  the  propriety 
of  her  visits  in  such  crowded  and  unholy  localities,  as  the 
wynds  in  the  Canongate  are  known  to  be,  it  is  right  to 
mention,  that  her  acquaintance  with  cases  of  distress  there, 
was  procured  from  the  discreet  and  humane  mistress  of  the 


112  MEMOIR     OF 

school  which  she  visited,  and  that  in  exploring  the  naiTow 
lane,  or  lofty  and  sometimes  broken  stair,  she  was  general- 
ly guided  by  one  of  the  pupils.  It  is  a  touching  sight  to 
see  one  chamber  cleanly  and  quiet,  surrounded  by  the  filth 
and  din  of  many  others,  and  one  suffering  inmate,  in  the 
very  core  of  evil,  yet  'preserved  in  Jesus  Christ.'  It  is 
like  a  beam  of  light,  which  contracts  neither  pestilence  nor 
pollution  from  its  having  penetrated  into  a  noisome  dun- 
geon, and  is  to  be  noted  to  the  praise  of  his  glory,  who 
gives  to  the  feeblest  that  trust  in  him,  power  to  walk  in  his 
ways,  and  final  peace.  Many  such  instructive  scenes  were 
witnessed  by  Mary  Lundie,  and,  it  is  believed  that  in  them 
she  both  communicated  and  received  edification. 

In  the  month  of  March  country  air  was  recommended 
for  the  removal  of  her  headaches,  and  she,  with  a  younger 
brother,  journeyed  through  a  departing  snow-storm  to  the 
dwelling  of  her  future  father-in-law.  Of  the  journey  she 
says  : — '  The  pass  of  Dalveen  looked  so  beautiful  in  alter- 
nate streaks  of  snow  and  green  sward,  that  I  could  not  tell 
whether  to  prefer  it  so,  or  in  the  rich  glow  of  summer  as  I 
saw  it  before.  On  the  way  I  read  Haldane's  Sermon, 
*'The  Jews  God's  Witnesses,"  with  much  interest.  Elli- 
ot's poetry  employed  me  for  miles,  but  it  leaves  a  sad  and 
gloomy  impression  of  discontent  with  the  government  of 
his  country,  and  even  implied  censure  against  the  plans  of 
Providence,  which  his  "  pale  alpine  rose  "  and  "  sunny  ce- 
landine "   cannot  dispel.      But  I  must  leave  the  regions  of 

poetry,  and  come  to  life's  close  companion,  dull  reality !' 

*       *       * 

She  does  not  mention,  as  one  of  her  travelling  employ- 
ments, the  composition  of  a  poem,  found  in  a  scrap  book, 
titled  'Fragments  of  Spring,  1835:'  it  is  dated  'March 
12,  H.  C interpreted  Heavy  Coach: — 

'  How  clear,  as  o'er  each  shortening  mile, 

The  rapid  coursers  fly, 
Beams  on  the  soul  the  gentle  smile, 

Of  faithful  memory  ! 

Joys  that  in  other  days  were  bright, 

But  dimmed  by  after  cares, 
Shine  out  in  pure  and  beauteous  light, 

That  mocks  the  touch  of  years. 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  113 

Swift  thought  brings  near  the  forms  we  love, 

Voices  of  music's  tone, 
Light  steps  that  through  the  silent  grove, 

To  meet  us  oft  have  flown. 

Fair  mornings,  when  the  breaking  day 

O'er  lake  and  mountain  wild, 
Rose  not  more  bright,  in  sunbeams  gay. 

Than  our  young  pleasure  smiled. 

When  round  some  ivy-mantled  tower, 

We  strolled  the  summer  day, 
And  plucked  the  harebell's  graceful  flower 

That  fringed  its  arches  gray. 

With  that  blue  wreath  young  hearts  were  twined, 

— Nor  deem  the  fetter's  frail ; — 
The  vows,  then  breathed  to  whispering  wind, 

Still  float  on  each  low  gale. 

Fair  scenes,  how  bright  your  memory  is  ! 

Ye  coursers  onward  fly. 
And  teach  me  that  the  dream  of  bliss 

Is  blest  reality.' 

The  manner  in  which  time  was  spent  with  her  friends 
is  thus  stated  : — For  myself  my  head  has  been  free  and 
clear,  and  1  have  tried  to  follow  my  beloved  mamma's 
council  to  the  letter.  We  retire  as  regularly  as  eleven 
strikes,  and  start  up  at  seven,  or  before  it ;  from  eight  to 
nine  we  read  Edwards'  History  of  Redemption  ;  and  in  the 
space  after  prayers,  search  for  scripture  proofs,  according 
to  a  very  clear  and  good  plan  laid  down  in  Bridges'  Scrip- 
ture Studies ;  afterwards  I  draw,  read  Italian  or  English, 
ride  or  walk,  sometimes  against  a  stiff  sea-breeze,  some- 
times in  bright  sunshine.  After  dinner,  B.  and  I  learn  our 
Hebrew  alphabet,  and  read  for  practice,  in  Genesis,  words 
that  are  as  meaningless  to  us  as  the  winds  that  shake  the 
windows,  and  more  so,  for  those  winds  are  the  voice  of 
Him  who  speaks  through  universal  nature,  and  call  up 
strange  emotions  of  the  past.  When  awake  at  night  in  my 
quiet  chamber,  I  listen  to  their  mournful  tones,  till  they 
seem  to  speak  to  me.  I  smile  to  be  obliged  to  decypher 
the  Hebrew  words  like  a  child  in  the  attempt  to  acquire 
the  first  step  of  the  ladder  of  knowledge  ;  but  hope  to  find 
sufl[icient  perseverance  to  acquire  the  power  of  reading  the 
10* 


114  MEMOIR     OF 

beautiful  tongue  of  the  sweet  singer  of  Israel.'  *  *  * 
*  Uncle  Henry  *  tells  me  the  dear  old  cottage  must  soon 
come  down — beautiful  place  I  If  you,  dear  mamma,  have 
any  whabitireness,  you  will  understand  how  it  went  to  my 
heart  to  hear  it  condemned  ;  but  its  work  is  done,  and  the 
venerable  head  it  was  built  to  shelter,  is  in  another  home. 
Why  should  the  fair  dwelling  last,  when  the  inmate,  the 
soul  that  gave  interest  and  pleasure  to  its  erection,  has 
passed  away  V 

'  Ruthwell,  April  21. — So  dear  Mrs.  M is  freed  at 

last,  and  gone  to  the  happy  gathering  place,  where  the 
precious  redeemed  are  safe  from  suffering,  and  more, — 
from  temptation.  She  has  seen  my  beloved  father,  who 
has  now,  for  three  years,  rejoiced  with  joy  unspeakable 
and  full  of  glory — while  you,  dear  mamma,  have  had  many 
burdens  to  bear,  and  many  sufferings  since  that  time.  But 
they  have  been  dealt  by  a  Father,  and  you  have  felt  his 
supporting  presence.  This  is  the  evening  of  the  dark  and 
afflicting  day,  when  all  that  was  left  of  him  was  removed 
from  us — but  he  is  in  heaven.' 

The  following  poems  were  written  during  her  residence 
at  Ruthwell : — 


*  0  Thou  who  hear'st  the  contrite  sinner's  mourning, 
And  meet'st  the  trembling  soul  to  Thee  returning, 
Bow  down  thine  ear,  and  grant  me  answer  speedy, 
For  I  am  needy. 

Thou  know'st  the  sacred  vows  so  often  broken, 
Thou  hear'st  the  words  forgot  as  soon  as  spoken, 
Thou  seest  earth's  chains,  of  fatal  lustre,  twining 
This  heart  declining. 

From  the  fair  paths  of  peace  too  often  straying, 
I  wander  far,  my  Saviour's  love  betraying  ; 
Till,  wounded  by  the  thorns  that  mercy  scatters, 
I  seek  life's  waters. 

My  gracious  Shepherd,  in  thy  pasture  lead  me  ; 
With  living  streams,  with  heavenly  manna  feed  me  ; 
With  thine  own  voice  of  love,  oh  !  call  me,  guide  me 
From  evil  hide  me. 

*  The  pet  name  of  Dr.  Duncan, 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  115 

Be  Thou  my  first,  my  best,  my  chosen  treasure  ; 
Delight  my  soul  with  love  that  knows  no  measure  ; 
Filled  with  Thyself,  can  earth's  delusion's  charm  me  1 
Can  Satan  harm  me  1 

From  strength  to  strength,  my  Lord  will  lead  my  spirit, 
The  purchased  crown  in  Zion  to  inherit ; — 
Mine  eyes  shall  close  on  time,  shall  cease  from  weeping, 
In  Jesus  sleeping. 

Then,  clad  in  robes  made  white  by  love  redeeming, 
Fll  veil  my  sight,  before  his  glory  beaming, 
And  ever  sing  his  praise  in  accents  lowly, 

Whose  name  is  Holy  !' 


March  23. 


*  THE  STAR  OP  HOPE. 

*  When  the  star  of  hope  is  beaming 
Mildly  through  the  silent  sky. 

When  its  ray  of  promise  streaming, 
Trembles  on  the  anxious  eye  ; — 

Fears  that  chilled  the  spirit  vanish, 
Woes  that  bound  it  break  their  chain  ; 

Those  pure  rays  descending,  banish 
Clouds  of  doubt,  and  storms  of  pain. 

Brightly  to  the  gazer's  spirit, 
In  its  light  the  future  shines  ; 

Bovvers  of  bliss  his  thoughts  inherit  ; 
Peace  for  him  her  olive  twines. 

Calmly  round  each  rising  morrow 
Smile  the  gathered  joys  of  years  ; 

Days  that  know  no  shade  of  sorrow, 
Nights  undimmed  by  memory's  tears. 

Dreamer  cease  !  That  ray  of  glory 
Shines  a  light  from  love  divine. 

Guardian  love,  that  watches  o'er  thee. 
Cheers  thee  when  thy  steps  decline. 

If  in  Time,  so  swiftly  flying, 
Joy's  fair  star  so  radiant  seems, 

Fix  thine  eye  on  realms  undying, 
JJ fighter,  fairer,  there  it  beams, 


116 


M  E  JI  0  I  R      OF 

If  in  Time, — where  cloijds  descending, 
Quick  may  hide  it  from  thy  sight, 

Hope  and  peace  their  influence  blending, 
Sparkle  in  that  beauteous  light. 

Who  shall  tell  the  blaze  of  glory 
That  shall  fill  the  land  above, 

When  its  courts  arise  before  thee 
Bright  with  truth  and  holy  love  ! 

Who  shall  tell  thy  sacred  gladness 
When  thou  lowly  shalt  adore. 

Him,  who  conquering  sin  and  sadness, 
Gave  thee  light  for  evermore  ! 

Follow  thou  the  ray  illuming 
Jesus  o'er  thy  pathway  flings  ; 

Leave  earth's  pleasures,  falsely  blooming. 
That,  when  fairest,  plant  their  stings. 

From  the  cross, — the  tenderest,  purest, 
Saddest  light  that  ever  shone, 

Points  to  realms  where  peace  is  surest — 
Pilgrim,  gaze  and  follow  on  !' 


April  20. 


A  circumstance  occurred  at  this  perio(J  which  gave 
great  joy  to  many  attached  friends,  and  seemed  to  open 
views  of  a  station  of  usefulness  in  the  Church,  and  a 
speedy  union  of  that  young  pair  who  had  not  ventured  to 
deem  such  an  event  less  than  far  distant.  Mr.  Duncan  re- 
ceived the  royal  presentation  to  a  parish  in  Galloway,  and 
being  welcomed  by  a  numerous  body  of  parishioners,  in- 
cluding the  leading  people,  he  thought  of  nothing,  but  with 
a  thankful  heart  going  through  the  necessary  preparation 
for  entering  on  a  solemn  charge.  He  who  seeth  not  as 
man  seeth  must  often  look  upon  his  feeble  creatures  rejoic- 
ing  on  the  very  verge  of  disappointment,  as  also  weeping 
at  that  which  forms  the  channel  for  the  flow  of  new  spiri- 
tual life  into  their  souls.  If  the  Christian  in  the  calmest 
season  requires,  like  Peter  on  the  water,  to  fix  his  eye  on 
his  supporting  Lord,  how  much  more,  when  the  wind  agi- 
tates the  unsteady  element  on  which  he  treads,  does  he 
cling  to  the  extended  and  sustaining  arm,  and  cry  out  with 
sinking  drowning  Peter,  '  Lord,  save  me,  I  perish.'  The 
afllictions  appointed  for  each,  are  adapted  with  minute  and 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  117 

tender  wisdom  to  the  character  of  the  afflicted.  But,  on 
first  being  brought  into  the  wilderness,  the  soul  cannot  see 
the  design,  or  anticipate  the  comfort,  which  shall  after- 
wards be  spoken  to  it.  It  is  the  tempted  who  know  how 
to  succour  the  tempted,  and  those  that  have  mourned,  and 
had  their  tears  dried  by  the  power  of  divine  consolation, 
who  have  acquired  the  art  of  opening  its  treasures  to  others. 
Some  such  purposes  were  to  be  accomplished  in  the  present 
instance.  But,  meanwhile,  we  have  to  deal  only  with  the  joy- 
ful circumstances.     The  diary  contains  brief  allusion  to  it. 

^  March  28. — How  varied  and  important  have  been  the 
events  of  this  week  !  It  is  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  The 
hopes  of  W.  W.  have  been  surpassed  in  his  appointment  to 
Urr.  To  us  prospects  looked  gloomy,  but  our  God  has 
seen  it  meet  to  brighten  them  suddenly.  Fears  are  turned 
to  gladness,  and  doubt  to  praise.  Since  the  news  came, 
W.  W.  has  been  full  of  happiness,  and  says  he  thinks  he 
cannot  again  be  faithless.  Alas  !  it  may  require  hard  les- 
sons to  teach  that.  Since  the  tidings  came  I  have  been  op- 
pressed by  head-ache.  God  blends  joy  and  pain  in  great 
mercy,  but  I  have  felt  less  able  to  think,  and  pray,  and  re- 
solve. Oh,  may  He  be  nigh  to-morrow  !  My  heart  is 
dead  even  under  this  load  of  goodness.  When  shall  my 
life  be  praise  ?  How  easily,  by  withdrawing  health,  could 
God  wither  earthly  joy  and  hope.  He  may  see  it  needful, 
but  let  me  ever  keep  near  him,  and  then  no  real  evil  can 
come.' 

After  having  been  confined  for  some  time  by  illness,  she 
writes  : — 

'  Ayril  3. — The  Lord  was  merciful  and  raised  me  up 
again,  and  oh  !  I  wish  to  spend  my  time  for  him.  We  have 
not  yet  made  a  sufficiently  serious  business  of  the  great 
change  that,  within  a  week,  has  been  wrought  in  our  pros- 
pects ;  my  heart  is  too  frivolously  dissipated,  but  the  Lord 
will  teach  me !  I  have  been  pretty  industrious,  but  not 
profitably  so.  My  time  is  not  my  own.  May  I  use  it 
while  it  flies  !' 

'  April  \Q. — [After  reviewing  the  three  years  that  had 
passed  since  her  beloved  father  was  taken  to  his  Saviour 
she  adds,]  '  Oh  !  that  I  could  be  of  any  use,  but  here  too  I 
have  been  too  much  at  ease — how  shall  I  look  on  this  at 


118  M  E  M  0  I  R      O  F 

last  ?  Earth  looks  so  green,  so  flowery  ;  my  skies,  far  off 
it  is  true,  yet  still  often  gazed  on,  are  so  blue  and  tranquil, 
that  the  fair  world  of  peace  is  forgotten,  and  sanctification 
little  sought.  God  could  startle  me  into  a  waking  of  awful 
anguish  in  a  moment — but  great  are  his  mercies.  Let  me 
wake  710W  and  live  in  heavenly  contemplation.  Let  me 
pray  much  for  and  with  my  friend  in  the  few  days  we  still 
may  be  together.' 


MARY     L  UN  DIE     DUNCAN.  119 


CHAPTER  VII. 

VENERABLE   CHRISTIAN VISITS  TO  THE  POOR REV.   JOHN 

BROWN    PATTERSON. 

From  Dumfries-shire  she  went  to  her  uncle's  residence 
in  Northumberland,  and  there  wrote  to  her  chosen  friend 
near  London  on  the  same  interesting  subject  in  this  manner : 

*  Dilston  House,  May  4. 

'  Your  account  of  the  death  bed  experience  of calls 

for  praise  to  the  Rock  of  her  salvation,  who  made  the  dark 
places  bright ;  her  end  was  peace.  Does  not  everything 
confirm  these  words,  •'  all  things  are  yours  ?"  Even  death, 
so  dreadful  to  nature,  can  be  met  joyfully  by  the  most  timid  ; 
or,  what  is  equally  wonderful,  by  the  most  happy  ;  by  those 
whose  earthly  prospects  might  seem  too  peaceful  to  be  left 
without  a  struggle.  Those  words  of  hers,  "  it  is  the  hap- 
piest day  of  my  life,"  have  dwelt  upon  my  mind.  She 
was  willing  to  bid  adieu  to  time  and  all  its  pursuits,  and 
to  go,  in  the  strength  of  her  Saviour,  to  the  unseen  world. 
And  thus  it  is  that  Jesus  shows  himself  to  be  "  all  in  all." 
Oh  !  why  do  we  ever  seek  delight  from  meaner  sources  ? 
There  is  in  Him  a  loveliness  which  forms  the  surest  refuge 
of  the  afflicted.  It  is  more  known  as  other  joys  are  with- 
drawn.    So  Cowper  felt,  when  he  said, 

"Earthly  joys  no  more  attracting, 

Half  the  Christian's  conflicts  cease  ; 
Earthly  lights  no  more  distracting, 

Thou  mayest  trim  thy  lamp  in  peace." 

'  Since  receiving  your  most  touching  letter,  I  have  often 
asked  myself,  whether  I  should  be  quite  willing  to  die, 
should  God  recall  my  spirit  soon.  Alas  !  my  dear  friend, 
my  heart  is  too  much  twined  with  earthly  things  ;  and  I 
cannot  feel  that  I  wish  to  go,  but  rather  should  like  to  live 
long  here.     Are  you  not  sorry  for  me  ?     I  may  be  called 


120  MEMOIR      OF 

at  any  hour,  and  yet  I  desire  to  stay.  I  know  that  strength 
is  sufficient  for  the  day,  but  I  know  also  that  my  deceitful 
heart  has  laid  up  too  much  treasure  on  earth — has  suffered 
itself  to  be  possessed  of  too  many  hopes  of  future  days,  and 
does  not  gladly  and  often  turn  to  heaven  as  the  abode  where 
it  longs  to  be  !  Thus  it  is  that  temptations  rise  out  of  our 
best  blessings.  I  can  only  commend  myself,  feeble,  weak, 
and  needy  as  I  am,  to  Him  who  hath  led  me  hitherto,  and 
I  know  that  He  will  not  cast  me  from  Him.  But  you  do 
not  know  the  difficulty  I  have  in  keeping  the  things  of  time 
in  due  subjection.  I  spent  a  few  very  pleasant  wrecks  at 
Ruthwell,  not  idly.  While  there,  my  friend  received  an 
appointment  to  a  parish  twenty-five  miles  from  his  father. 
Some  of  his  friends  had  anticipated  it,  but  I  had  been  so 
fully  persuaded  that  he  would  he  longer  held  in  a  state  of 
probation,  that  I  had  never  expected  such  an  issue  to  the 
matter,  and  the  surprise  was  great.  The  population  of 
Urr  is,  I  believe,  large,  and  the  responsibilities  connected 
with  it  are  great  and  solemn.  There  is  only  one  source  to 
which  to  look  for  requisite  grace  and  strength,  and  I  desire 
ever  to  wait  upon  the  Lord,  who  daily  loadeth  me  with 
benefits.  He  is  trying  me  with  mercies  now.  Ah  !  who 
can  tell  how  soon  He  may  see  it  needful  to  change  his  deal- 
ings/ There  is  no  situation  more  calculated  to  make  its 
occupant  look  constantly  to  Jesus,  than  that  of  a  clergyman. 
It  is  his  own  work,  and  utterly  unavailing  without  his  bless- 
ing. 

'  I  am  now  visiting  my  kind  uncle  and  aunt  near  Hex- 
ham, and  many  are  my  lonely  musings  here.  The  woods 
are  extensive  and  wild  ;  and  as  I  tread  the  steep  and  wind- 
ing paths  alone,  my  thoughts  often  take  a  sad  and  sober 
turn.  I  think,  for  all  that  passes  around  teaches  me,  how 
vain  it  is  to  fix  the  heart  on  any  earthly  object,  which  may 
be  taken  away  in  a  moment.  I  try  to  draw  near  to  God  in 
prayer,  and  find  it  sweet  to  commit  all  that  is  dear  to  me 
into  His  hands,  and  to  be  sure  that  it  is  safe  and  blessed 
in  his  keeping.  The  past,  with  all  its  forgetfulness  of  Him, 
returns,  and  makes  me  sorrowful ;  but  this  quiet  time  may, 
by  his  blessing,  be  of  great  use  in  making  me  love  him 
more.  I  have  written,  my  dearest  friend,  a  most  selfish  let- 
ter, and  can  only  plead  in  excuse  your  gentle  reproach  for 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  121 

saying  so  little  of  what  relates  to  me.  You  now  see  a  good 
deal  of  my  foolish  and  weak  heart,  but  I  hope  it  will  make 
you  pray  that  I  may  constantly  be  taught  of  God.     Are  you 

well  now,  dear  F ?     I  wish  I  could  tell  you  how  often 

I  think  of  you,  and  what  a  delight  it  would  be  if  I  could  in 
the  least  contribute  to  your  amusement,  or  help  you  to 
draw  sweetness  out  of  the  portion  of  bitter  which  God  has 
mingled  in  your  cup.  But  I  can  pray  for  you.  This  is  a 
privilege  which  the  little  flock  alone  e  joy,  and  nothing 
deserves  the  name  of  friendship  that  is  not  thus  cemented. 
Let  us  often  bear  each  other's  names  to  the  holy  place, 
and  then,  oh,  how  shall  we  rejoice  to  meet  in  heaven.  I 
should  be  very  much  pleased  if  you  could  join  a  little  so- 
ciety of  Christians,  many  of  whom  live  distant  from  each 
other,  who  meet  in  spirit  on  the  evenings  of  every  Friday, 
to  pray  for  personal  increase  of  grace,  and  for  the  out- 
pouring of  the  Spirit  over  the  world.  An  hour  cannot  be 
fixed  because  of  the  various  circumstances  of  the  parties, 
but  it  is  very  pleasant  and  salutary.  We  should  use  every 
means  to  arouse  our  souls  to  prayer.  Write  very  soon,  my 
dear  F.,  and  do  not  spare  me.  Tell  me  all  you  think  of 
my  state  of  mind.  Yet  how  should  you,  for  I  cannot  re- 
present it  to  you  as  it  is.  Ah,  how  gently  I  deal  with  my 
own  sins !  I  desire  to  feel  them  more,  that  the  blood  of 
Jesus  may  be  increasingly  precious.' 

A  soul,  so  timorous  lest  prosperity  should  deaden  its 
exercises,  and  accepting  a  promised  blessing  with  so  solemn 
a  consciousness  of  unworthiness,  was  not  ill  prepared  for  a 
reverse  ;  solicitude  about  securing  her  ultimate  hope  being 
ever  the  paramount  sentiment,  prosperous  and  adverse  cir- 
cumstances in  the  present  time,  were  both  modified  in  their 
power  over  her.  There  is  something  so  graceful  and  single- 
hearted  in  her  manner  of  mingling  her  enjoyment  of  nature 
with  the  sentiment  which,  at  that  period,  was  most  potent 
in  her  heart,  that  we  are  tempted  to  extract  one  or  two 
passages  from  letters  to  her  future  husband,  written  on  the 
banks  of  the  Tyne,  where  her  soul  flowed  peacefully  in  the 
exercise  of  the  most  confiding  aflection. 

♦  Dilslon  House,  May  5. — When  I  look  at  the  bright  sun- 
shine which,  at  this  moment,  gilds  the  winding  glen  that 
stretches  itself  beneath  the  windows,  I  am  reminded  of 
11 


122  MEMOIR      OF 

the  description  of  the  path  of  the  just,  which  is  as  a  shining 
light,  and  the  peace  of  those  who  ever  have  *' Heaven's 
sunshine  on  their  joyful  way ;"  and  a  sweet  hope  springs 
up,  that  whatever  we  have  yet  to  learn,  will  graciously  be 
taught  us,  and  that  the  sins  which  cloud  our  skies  and  dim 
our  prospects  may  be  subdued,  and  that,  growing  in  holi- 
ness, we  may  be  of  those  who  heed  no  more  the  deluding 
lights  of  earth,  because  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness,  which, 
beaming  over  our  horizon,  attracts  continually  our  admiring 
eyes.  The  landscape  before  me  is  beautiful,  but  far  more 
so  is  the  state  of  the  spirit  where  the  Lord  has  fixed  his 
habitation,  and  if  it  be  so  with  us,  how  blessed  shall  be 
our  lot ! ' 

*  May  15. — A  lady  showed  me  her  very  complete  Horius 
Siccus,  which  it  has  been  the  labour  and  amusement  of 
years  to  collect  and  arrange.  This  country  affords  every 
facility  for  the  pursuit  of  botany.  There  are  wood  flowers, 
water  plants,  and  rock  vegetation  in  endless  variety ;  and 
now  the  purple  gems  of  the  orchis  are  rising  with  the  curi- 
ous arum.  The  old  lady  went  over  her  dried  flowers,  the 
pride  of  by-gone  springs,  with  an  artist's  enthusiasm,  and 
dwelt  on  long  walks,  which  had  been  made  short  and  plea- 
sant by  the  discovery  of  the  object  of  her  search,  some  lit- 
tle weed  perhaps  with  no  great  beauty  to  recommend  it. 
But  she  was  in  pursuit  of  it,  and  could  not  have  been  more 
pleased  to  find  a  treasure.  So  is  it  ever.  Some  gather 
flowers,  others  dig  in  the  mine  of  science  ;  what  we  have 
set  our  hearts  on  we  rejoice  to  find.  I  hope  that,  whatever 
cheerful  and  instructive  objects  may  attract  us,  we  may 
through  life  have  the  service  of  our  God  to  urge  on  our 
steps,  and  his  image  in  our  hearts,  and  his  image  in  his 
works  and  word  as  the  cynosure  of  our  gaze.  Yesterday 
I  rode  with  my  dear  uncle  to  a  Roman  camp  on  the  military 
road,  and  to  Aydon  Castle,  a  fine  old  border  fort,  now  a 
picturesque  ruin.  It  stands  on  the  verge  of  a  deep  woody 
precipice,  of  dizzy  height,  and  beneath  flows  the  little  Cor. 
A  fine  view  of  Hexham  and  the  vale  of  Tyne  extends  on 
one  side,  and  some  flowei*s  are  cherished  by  a  careful  hand 
on  the  top  of  the  castle  rock.  It  seems  tame  and  tautolo- 
gical to  repeat  on  paper  the  praises  of  the  floral  train,  and 
to  say  again  that  each  one  reminds  me   sweetly  though 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN..  123 

sadly  of  a  distant  friend.  Yet  the  feeling  flags  not.  The 
blue  hyacinth  that  rises  among  the  grass,  the  violet  and 
geranium  that  blow  in  the  wilds,  renew  it,  and  transport  me 
to  days  I  love  to  think  of,  and  to  a  kindling  smile,  of  which 
I  shall  weary — never!  These  fair  children  of  nature — 
these  woods  with  their  budding  hawthorn  and  venerable 
ivy — I  am  about  to  bid  them  adieu.  I  love  to  commune 
silently  among  such  objects,  with  nature,  and  with  her  Au- 
thor, and  shall  leave  them  with  regret ;  but  with  a  very 
different  sentiment  from  that  which  oppressed  me  in  leaving 
the  last  place  of  my  sojourn.' 

A  poem,  dated  Dilston,  May  5th,  is  doubtless  addressed 
to  flowers  presented  by  that  beloved  friend  on  her  leaving 
Ruthwell : — 

*  TO    SOME    FADING    FLOWERS. 

*  Fair  blossoms  bora  in  April's  light, 

Ye  once  were  fresh  when  day  arose  ; 
Ah  !  wherefore  fading  in  my  sight, 

Do  your  shrunk  petals  close  ] 

Your  brethren  on  the  parent  stem 

Still  on  the  breeze  their  fragrance  pour  ; 
Why  withering  thus,  unlike  to  them, 
Is  your  existence  o'er  ] 

In  those  pale  looks  of  swift  decay, 

I  read,  my  flowers,  your  sad  reply, 
'Twas  I  who  bore  you  far  away, 
In  foreign  air,  to  die  ! 

Reproach  me  not ;  your  native  shades 
Were  dear  to  me  as  evening's  star ; 
Their  mossy  turf,  their  sylvan  glades, 
The  silent  hills  afar  ! 

And  lingenng,  as  I  said  farewell, 

A  gentle  hand  dispoiled  your  bowers, 
That  ye  to  memory  might  tell 
Of  many  happy  hours  ! 

For  those  loved  scenes,  for  those  past  days, 

I  deem  your  drooping  buds  more  fair 
Than  when  ye  glowed  in  noon-tide  rays. 
Or  scented  evening  air. 


124  MEMOIR     OF 

And  if  again,  in  other  years, 

I  tread  the  spot  that  nursed  your  bloom, 
And  see  new  flowers  in  dewy  tears, 
That  flourish  in  your  room  ; 

The  brightest  of  the  vernal  train 

Shall  call  your  faded  forms  to  mind  ; 
Sweet  relics  of  your  beauteous  plain, — 
Of  all  I  loved  and  left  behmd.' 

During  her  tranquil  musings  in  the  woods  at  Dilston,  she 
possessed  an  overflow  of  spiritual  joy,  which  is  discovered 
in  her  diary  as  thus  : — '  I  feel  calm  and  happy,  and  at  times 
my  heart  so  overflows  with  wonder  and  joy  at  the  thought 
of  what  has  been,  and  what  may  be  given  me  by  my  Lord, 
that  I  feel  humbled  that  it  is  to  poor  rebellious  me  that  He 
has  extended  such  mercies.  Oh  that  I  could  praise  him 
always  ;  and  yet  when  temptation  to  forget  him  comes,  I 
am  almost  sure  to  do  it,  nay,  to  wound  my  conscience  by 
what  is  sinful.  Was  there  ever  one  called  by  the  Chris- 
tian name  so  slow  to  learn,  so  ready  to  forget !  No  earthly 
friend,  I  do  believe,  would  have  a  spark  of  love  for  me  left, 
if  I  ofl'ended  and  grieved  them  for  one  year  as  I  have  done 
the  Lord  all  my  life,  and  yet  to  which  of  them  do  I  owe  a 
tittle  of  the  obedience  that  I  owe  to  Him?  Lord  melt  my 
hard  heart.  Sunday  was  my  21st  birth-day.  Oh  how 
little  of  the  past  year  has  been  spent  to  God !  I  feel  a  dan- 
ger of  going  lightly  into  my  sins.  I  want  to  probe  them 
well,  and  not  to  fear  to  look  at  what  I  truly  am.  How  can 
they  be  cleansed  unless  they  be  spread  out  to  the  purifying 
blood  of  Jesus  ? ' 

Diary,— ^  I  was  escorted  from  Dilston  to  Newcastle  by 
my  uncle,  and  passed  ten  days  instead  of  two  with  mamma's 
friend.  She  has  much  peace  in  communion  with  God,  and, 
though  weak  in  frame  and  grieved  in  spirit,  holds  fast  by 
the  treasure  that  makes  her  independent  of  earth's  posses- 
sions or  the  smiles  of  the  worldly  for  happiness.  There  is 
in  this  lady  a  renunciation  of  earth,  and  a  settled  frame  of 
spirituality  that  few  attain ;  and  she  holds  it  by  frequent 
prayer,  and  by  constant  waiting  upon  God.  Friends,  who 
come,  often  join  in  prayer  :  their  intercourse  is  what  that 
of  Zion's  children  should  be.' 

Of  the  venerable  mother  of  this  estimable  friend,  she 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  125 

draws  a  portrait  correct  in  its  lineaments,  and  lovely  for  its 
repose  and  moral  truth,  in  a  letter  to  Mi.  Duncan  : — 

'  Newcastle,  May  22. — -I  wish  you  could  see  her.  She  is  a 
handsome  and  venerable  old  lady,  with   snow-white  hair, 
and  the  sweetest  expression  of  peace  and  affection  on  her 
countenance  ;   and  there  is  good  reason  for  it,  as  now,  at  the 
age  of  seventy-nine,   she  has  found  what  in  earlier  years 
she  was   a  stranger  to.     Four  years   ago,  during  a  severe 
illness,  and  after  much  mental  conflict,  she  was  brought  to 
the  feet  of  the  Saviour,  whom  she  had,  during  a  Ijng  life, 
rejected.     The  words  of  our  Lord  to  Paul,  "  Saul,  Saul, 
why  persecutest  thou  me,"  were  put  into  her  mouth,  and 
she  wept  for  joy  and  contrition  of  heart.     Since  that  time, 
she  has  gone  on  her  tranquil  way  in  much  converse  with 
her  God,  and  w^hen  we  enter  her  sitting-room,  we  find  her  ^ 
in  her  great  chair,  with  a  larj^e  bible  before  her,  marking  the 
words  that  suit  her  best.     It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  be  near 
an  aged  pilgrim  hastening,   willingly,  to  the  Jordan,  and 
having  little  to  do  with  time.     *    *     *    w^  have  had  many 
sweet  seasons  of  prayer,  and  .this  room  has  a  hallowed  air 
to  me — it  is  a  Bethel.     I  think  I  have  learned  more  of  the 
use  of  prayer  as  a  guide,  and  as  a  means  of  quieting  the 
soul  when  any  thing  has  disturbed  it.     It  is  the  constant 
resource  of  my  kind  friend,  and  the  bond  by  which  her  union 
with  those  she  loves  is  cemented.'     After  alluding  to  some 
anticipated  trials,   she  adds  in  the  same  letter  : — '  In  God 
we  shall  do  valiantly.     Prayer   is  the  shield  which  must 
blunt  the  many  darts,  and  make  them  slide  off  our  armour 
harmless.     Therefore,  let  us  pray  Avithout    ceasing.     In 
these  latter  days,  when  men  are  heady  and  high-minded, 
let  us  keep  our  lamps  burning  with  zeal,  and  be  wise  as 
serpents,   and  harmless  as  doves.     *     *     *     This  is  the 
preparation  day,  for  Sabbath  is  at  hand.     Oh,  let  us  both 
use  such  days  henceforth  more  to  God's  glory  than  before. 
Let  us  give  our  entire  selves  to  him.     Why  in  action  halt 
between  two  opinions  ?     I  have  been  most  happy  this  week 
in  seeking  him  continually.     I  have  felt  that  I  have  been 
far  (O,  how  far  !)  too  lax,  and  that  one  day  in  his  courts  is 
better  than  a  thousand.     May  the  mantle  of  saints  departed 
descend  on  us !   May  the  robe  of  Jesus'  holiness  be  around 
us !  May  heaven  be  before  our  eyes,  and  earth  beneath  our 
11* 


126  MEMOIR     OF 

feet !  May  love  be  in  our  hearts,  and  praise  on  our  tongues. 
This  I  solemnly  pray,  and  then  what  evil  can  life,  or 
death,  or  sorrow  do  to  us  ?  Our  record  is  not  within  their 
reach.' 

Remarking  the  conduct  of  a  friend  who  deemed  it  duty 
to  withdraw  entirely  from  a  newly  formed  family  connexion, 
because  she  disapproved  the  religious  sentiments  of  the 
parties,  Mary  thus  mildly  investigates,  and  draws  lessons 
of  instruction  for  herself.  Diary. — '  I  am  not  sure  if  these 
views  should  keep  us  from  trying  to  do  good  to  such  as  may 
be  pointed  out  to  us  by  Providence,  in  meek  Christian  cha- 
rity and  consistency,  that  they  may  be  won  from  their  er- 
rors. But  the  party  alluded  to  calls  this  spurious  charity. 
One  would  not  recommend  intercourse  that  could  only  be 
productive  of  unpleasant  feelings  on  all  sides,  but  the  ques- 
tion now  afloat  with  me  is,  whether  it  be  the  right  thing 
to  be  in  the  state  which  would  make  intercourse  so  painful, 
or  whether  it  be  the  right  thing  to  tell  one's  sentiments 
mildly,  and  with  much  allowance  for  early  training  and 
habits  of  thought.  I  m-;y,  however  that  be  settled,  gain 
from  these  things  a  new  ^  lew  of  the  Christian's  high  duty,  to 
maintain  his  Saviour's  cause,  and  be  always  on  the  watch 
tower.  I  have  at  times  lost  my  own  spirituality,  and  done 
no  good  to  others  by  letting  myself  be  led  into  their  trains 
of  thought,  instead  of  seeking  to  lead  them  to  better  things. 
I  have  even  sniled  acquiescence,  or  passed  in  silence, 
sentiments  I  disapproved, — but  then  my  enemy  was  love  of 
self,  so  easily  does  charity  degenerate  and  become  a  cloak 
for  evil ! — Against  this,  1  have  by  what  I  have  here  seen, 
been  put  on  my  guard.'' 

A  few  days  after,  when  she  had,  on  her  homeward  way, 
reached  the  habitation  of  another  dear  friend,  she  still  dwells 
in  her  diary  on  the  character  of  the  aged  and  waiting  ser- 
vant whom  she  had  admired  and  loved  to  contemplate. 
Diary. — '  I  came  here  on  May  23d,  and  the  kind  welcome, 
the  flowery  garden,  the  rose  of  Sharon  and  lily  of  the 
valley,  have  greatly  cheered  me.  I  want  to  see  the  love 
of  God  in  every  thing.  When  I  think  of  that  aged  lady,  so 
kind,  so  peaceful,  so  meek  in  waiting  for  her  departure,  I 
feel  it  a  privilege  to  have  been  called  early  to  that  service, 
whose  perfect  freedom  she  did  not  know  till  seventy-five 


MARY   LUNDIE   DUNCAN.  127 

years  had  passed  in  the  bondage  of  sin  !  The  grace  of  God 
is  wonderful  to  her  in  unloosing  all  the  bonds  oi'  habit,  in  soft- 
ening the  hard  heart,  in  opening  the  eyes  that  had  remained 
blind  when  light  was  around  them ;  to  me  in  having  led 
and  taught  me  from  infancy,  ungrateful  backslider  as  I  am  ; 
in  having  daily  patience  with  me,  and  teaching  me  more 
and  more  of  his  love  :  would  that  my  whole  being  were 
devoted  to  him !' 

Shortly  after  this  date,  she  reached  the  home  to  which 
she  had  often  turned  during  the  enjoyments  of  her  absence. 
She  remarked,  on  being  asked  why  she  was  so  desirous  to 
return.  '  I  have  too  much  "  inhabitiveness"  to  like  to  be 
very  long  away  from  you  all ;  one  never  gets  so  well  estab- 
lished at  improving  employments  as  at  home,  and  the  mind 
wearies  when  it  has  either  nothing  to  employ  it,  or  is  forced 
by  change  of  place  to  fly  from  one  thing  to  another.' 

The  first  five  stanzas  of  the  poem  which  follows  were 
written  about  this  date  ;  the  concludmg  four  in  November, 
1839. 

*  ON    SEEING    A    PRISM    SHOWN    IN    AN    INFANT    SCHOOL.* 

'  The  morning  is  over,  the  lessons  are  done, 
And  bright  on  the  group  shine  the  beams  of  the  sun  ; 
"Now show  us  the  rainbow,"  each  little  voice  cries, 
And  turned  to  the  lattice  are  many  glad  eyes. 

The  prism  is  displayed  in  their  wondering  sight, 
Out  spring,  as  by  magic,  the  colours  of  light, 
And  over  the  throng  the  fair  vision  is  cast. 
Like  the  bow  in  the  cloud  when  the  tempest  is  past. 

And  now  on  the  ceiling,  and  now  on  the  walls. 
Fast  flitting,  and  flying,  the  brilliancy  falls  ; 
And  now  for  a  moment  the  lustre  is  shed. 
Like  a  circlet  of  glory,  on  one  little  head. 

With  eagerness  flocking,  to  catch  at  the  prize. 
The  children  esteem  it  their  own — but  it  flies  ; 
High  and  low,  as  it  skims,  they  at  vacancy  clasp. 
While,  in  courting  pursuit,  'tis  eluding  their  grasp. 

The  remembrance  of  this  may  a  lesson  impart, 
When  manhood  has  ripened  each  buoyant  young  heart  ; 
When  flying  in  chase  of  some  vision  of  bliss, 
They  grasp  it,  and  find  it  allusive  as  this. 

♦  Probably  at  Newcastle. 


128  MEMOIR     OF 

For  hope,  like  the  rainbow,  adorns  the  sweet  scene, 
When  dew-drops  are  gleaming,  and  nature  is  green  ; 
And  we  think,  could  we  reach  the  fair  hills  of  its  rest, 
And  gain  what  we  wish,  we  should  surely  be  blest. 

We  pant  in  pursuit  of  the  vanishing  prize, 
We  deem  it  our  own — as  we  near  it,  it  flies  ! 
It  loses  its  brightness,  it  fades  from  our  sight, 
And  the  eye  that  admired  is  left  weeping  in  night. 

Ah  !  bUss  is  not  here,  it  is  born  in  the  skies, 
Thmtgh  hope,  the  sweet  dreamer,  its  absence  denies  ; 
And  ne'er  to  mankind  shall  its  fulness  be  given. 
On  earth  be  made  bright  by  this  native  of  heaven. 

Look  upward  from  time,  and  its  dreams  of  delight. 
Pass  on  to  the  land  of  possession  and  sight ; 
Seek  this,  and  this  only,  and  all  shall  be  peace, 
W^hen  hope  and  the  rainbow  together  shall  cease.' 

Immediately  on  her  return  home,  the  entry  in  her  diary 
mentions  her  attending  the  celebration  of  the  Lord's  Supper 
at  Lady  Glenorchy's  Church,  which,  she  says,  she  enjoy- 
ed, '  caUing  sin  to  i  eniombrance,  and  praying  that  all  might 
be  blotted  out,  and  she  be  enabled  to  fix  a  steady  eye  on 
Jesus, ' — and  then  follows  another  entry  which  refers  to  a 
public  execution,  and  exhibits  the  power  of  divine  love  in 
strengthening  the  character,  and  expanding  the  charities. 
That  a  criminal  should  be  condemned  to  suffer  death  on  the 
scaffold  is,  and,  indeed,  is  designed  to  be,  shocking  to  the 
tender  mind  ;  and  the  natural  impulse  of  refinement  is  to 
dismiss  so  horrible  a  thought,  But  grace  judges  differently. 
To  attract  the  attention  of  a  Christian  to  a  soul  in  peril,  is 
to  engage  that  Christian's  prayers.  And  so  it  was  with 
Mary.  The  diary  reveals  the  secret  exercises  of  her 
closet,  which  were  open  before  to  the  Searcher  of  hearts 
alone. 

'  July  14. — Yesterday  poor  J.  Bell  was  hanged  in  the 
High  Street  for  killing  his  sergeant.  Mr.  Hunter  had  good 
hope  of  him.  He  was  penitent ;  and  his  heart  "  so  filled 
with  the  judgment-seat,  he  did  not  think  of  the  scaffold." 
I  trust  a  God  of  mercy  has  redeemed  him,  poor  desolate 
creature.  He  had  no  other  refuge.  No  one  has — but  his 
was  a  situation  to  make  him  peculiarly  feel  it.  I  hope 
Jesus   received  him  like  the  thief  on  the  cross  !     I  never 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  129 

remember  to  have  prayed  so  much  for  any  one  I  never  saw, 
as  for  him.  I  longed  for  his  salvation.  May  the  many 
prayers  offered  for  him  in  Edinburgh  be  remembered  by  a 
faithful  Lord,  and  may  we  be  taught  to  be  earnest  in  sup- 
plication for  our  own  poor  souls.' 

To  Mr,  Duncan. 

^Edinburgh,  June  8. — I  have  like  you,  been  writing 
under  the  peeling  of  aloud  thunder-storm,  grand  and  awful. 
It  brings  home  the  question,  "  Am  I  ready  to  die  ?"  Would 
that  we  were  sure,  for  the  hour  each  day  draws  nearer. 
Ijthink  I  am  sure  that  if  I  died  I  should  go  to  heaven,  through 
my  most  blessed  Saviour  ;  but  O  the  coldness  of  heart ! 
How  true  to  earthly  love,  how  forgetful  of  that  which  lasts 
through  eternity  and  began  before  our  being. 

When  she  heard  the  solemn  and  earnest  pleading  of  Dr. 
Duff  on  behalf  of  the  millions  who  people  the  idol-blighted 
plains  of  India,  she  wrote  to  the  same  friend. 

*  Edmhurgli,  June  17. — The  world  is  dark  and  wretched 
when  we  look  at  such  melancholy  facts,  and  think  over 
what  an  extent  the  same  evils,  the  same  destitution  of 
spiritual  guides,  and  of  the  means  of  pleasing  the  Lamb, 
are  diffused.  When  shall  the  day  dawn,  and  the  day-star 
arise  1  When  shall  the  multitude  of  the  Isles,  and  the  ful- 
ness of  the  Gentile  nations,  become  the  ransomed  saints  of 
the  God  of  glory  !  The  poor  heathen  !  He  pities  them,  and 
shall  not  we,  his  saved  ones,  pity  too  ?  Oh  !  let  us  pray 
for  them  more  earnestly  than  we  have  hitherto  done,  that 
SOULS,  everlasting  souls,  may  be  given  to  our  petitions. 
The  millennarians,  whose  creed  I  do  not  much  understand, 
seem  to  believe,  that,  when  the  last  vial  is  poured  out,  the 
wrath  of  God  will  come  upon  those  nations  which  know 
him  not.  There  will  be  plagues  and  great  destructions,  and 
only  a  remnant  shall  be  left.  Now,  I  have  been  accustomed 
to  hope,  and  with  delightful  expectation,  that  those  forsaken 
nations  shall  be  taught  of  God,  and  have  at  least,  as  we 
have,  a  free  offer  of  the  great  salvation ;  and  many,  who 
sin  through  ignorance,  shall  be  offered  that  which  they 
will,  with  meltings  of  heart,  accept ;  and  so,  in  the  rescue, 
and  not  in  the  destruction  of  his  scattered  flock,  Jesus  will 
be  glorified.      I  speak   only  my  own  thoughts  ;  tell  me 


130  MEMOIR    OF 

yours.  Should  it  not  be  so! — He  is  just,  he  is  good,  and 
it  is  right.  But,  O  !  how  the  consideration  of  their  sad 
case  should  stimulate  us  to  prayer  for  them,  and  to  exer- 
tion too.' 

Diary. — '  Last  Sunday, came  home  with  me,  be- 
tween sermons,  and  we  had  some  profitable  conversation  ; 
in  the  course  of  which,  we  resolved  to  guard,  for  one  week, 
against  saying  a  single  word  against  any  living  creature. 
I  much  wish  to  have  that  deep  sense  of  my  own  unworthi- 
ness,  which  will  make  me  charitable  to  all.  Not  that  I 
would  lose  the  power  of  discriminating ;  but  it  is  well  to 
seal  the  lips  in  some  conversations,  lest  we  be  tempted  to 
speak  in  this  unadvised  way.  I  love  the  character  of  a 
peace-maker,  and  should  like  to  be  one.  There  are  times 
when  it  is  well  to  point  out  to  a  friend  the  faults  of  another  ; 
but,  on  examining,  we  find  these  to  be  very  few.  The 
effect  is  to  prejudice  the  friend  we  love,  and,  therefore, 
are  most  likely  to  speak  to,  against  some  individual,  and 
chase  from  him  some  of  that  balmy  dew  of  universal  love, 
which  most  resembles  the  state  of  angels  in  heaven  ;  and 
who  can  say  where  such  a  course  might  end, — in  lessening 
usefulness,  in  impairing  happiness,  in  sowing  dissensions  7 

On  the  death  of  the  Rev.  John  Brown  Patterson,  between 
which  and  her  own,  as  well  as  between  the  expanded  be- 
nevolence and  devotedness,  not  to  name  the  poetry  of  their 
characters,  there  has  appeared  an  afl^ecting  analogy  to  some 
who  knew  them  well,  she  wrote  and  felt  much ;  and,  though 
never  privileged  to  mingle  prayers  or  tears  with  the  mourn- 
ers, hers  were  oflfered  before  Him,  who  binds  up  the 
broken-hearted,  and  helps  the  widow. 

To  Mr.  Duncan. 
^July  7. — We  all  feel  deeply  for  the  family  of  Mr.  Patter- 
son, who  are  plunged  into  the  deepest  distress  by  their 
heavy  bereavement.  He  was,  I  believe,  the  victim  of 
conscientiousness  ;  for  Falkirk  is  a  large  and  most  dis- 
couraging parish.  He  was  dissatisfied  with  the  measure  of 
good  he  was  enabled  to  do,  and,  during  his  short  convales- 
cence, his  spirits  were  in  a  state  of  painful  depression,  and 
he  said,  « O,  I  cannot  return  to  Falkirk !"  He  preached 
eighteen  times  in  the  last  fortnight  of  his  health,  and  the 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  131 

last  time  was  so  exhausted,  that  he  rested  on  the   sofa,  in 
clothes   drenched  by  a  heavy  rain,  during  his  walk  home. 
Thu-  were  the  seeds   of  disease   sown.       At   last,  typhus 
turned  to  6raM-fever,  and  he  was  in  wild  delirium  for  the 
last  few  days.     During  that  time,  he  was  now  praying,  now 
preaching.     At  times,  the  beauty  of  his  thoughts  was  quite 
beyond  himself.     That  glowing  spirit  is  gone.  That  voice, 
so   zealous    in  the   good  cause,  is  hushed.       That  mind, 
mingling  religion  and  literature  so  invitingly  ^or  the  young 
and  studious,  shall  weave  its   splendid  imagery  no  more  ; 
but  all — all  those  powers    shall  be  perfected  in  the  land  of 
his  joyful  habitation ;  and  all    shall  be    swallowed  up  in 
the  near  and  rapturous  view  of  the  Lamb,  whom  he   shall 
follow  whithersoever  he  goeth.     I  never  remember  to  have 
prayed  for  any  one  in  sickness,  not  in  the  immediate  circle 
of  my    friends,    so  earnestly    as   I  did  for  him,  and  his 
mourning  relations  ;  and  it  enlarges  and    softens  the  heart, 
to  weep   for  those  who  weep,  and   commit  their  cause  to 
God.      May  you   and  I    know  much  of  the  blessedness  of 
thus    sympathizing  with  the    sorrowful,  in  a  world  where 
sorrows  abound,  and  may  we  be  the  instruments  of  binding 
up  many  worn  and   sad  spirits  !  I  would  also    desire,  that, 
if  it  be  the  will  of  God,  we  may  not   be  subject  to  such 
trials  as  were  his   lot,  in  his  bright  but  troulDled   course, 
and  spared  such   anguish  as  now  rends  the  hearts  of  his 
bereft  ones.      My  uncle  made  some    just    and    beautiful 
references  to  Mr.   Patterson  in  his  sermon.'     To  another 
friend  she  wrote  : — *  "  We  thought  him  fit  to  live,"  said  my 
uncle,  "  but  God  saw  that  he  was  fit  to  die."     And  let  us 
be  willing,  my  dear  F ,  that  our  lights  should  be  re- 
moved to  the  land  of  glory.      We  shall  not  be  dark  and 
dim,  when  they  are  gone,  if,  by  their  loss,  our  eyes  are 
more  stedfastly  fixed  on  our  heavenly  King,  the  source  of 
all  the  brightness  that  attracts  our  love.' 


132  MEMOIR     OF 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

DISSAPPOINTMEXT,    AND    THE    MANNER    IN    WHICH     IT 
WAS    BORNE. 

Blooming  and  lovely  herself,  attractive  by  her  chasten- 
ed cheerfulness,  and  shedding  love  and  peace  around  her, 
yet  in  the  sober  and  subdued  light  which  we  have  seen 
her  correspondence  and  her  diary  unfold,  was  the  passing 
scene  clad  to  Mary's  view.  It  was  the  hope  beyond  the 
glories  of  the  world  where  sin  is  not,  which  fixed  her 
eager  gaze  ;  and  thus  one  might  expect  she  was  prepared 
for  the  stroke  which  was  even  now  about  to  fall ;  and  so, 
indeed,  she  was. 

To  her  confidential  friend,  near  London,  she  wrote  in 
this  strain : — '  The  23d  of  this  month  (July)  is  the  day  ap- 
pointed by  the  General  Assembly  as  a  general  fast  through- 
out the  church.  I  trust  it  may  be  a  day  of  blessing  in  our 
land,  and  that  we  may  be  aroused  to  covet  earnestly  the 
best  gifts,  for  if  we  ask  we  shall  receive  :  If  we  really  be- 
lieve that  our  Lord  will  do  for  us  what  we  ask,  we  shall 
not  be  sent  away  empty.  Not  one  word  of  heartfelt  pray- 
er is  forgotten  by  Him,  though  it  is  not  always  answered 
in  the  way  we  wish.  The  23d  will  be  a  day  of  double  in- 
terest to  me,  because  it  is  the  first  of  three  days  appointed 
for  my  friend  to  preach  before  the  people  of  Urr,  in  order 
to  their  sustaining  or  rejecting  the  royal  appointment. 
Should  he  not  be  received,  I  believe  that  faith  and  submis- 
sion will  be  increased,  and  hope  will  not  die.  Should  it 
be  otherwise,  I  trust  he  may  prove  a  faithful  and  unwea- 
ried labourer  in  the  vineyard  of  our  merciful  Lord.  Oh  ! 
my  beloved  friend,  will  you  pray  that  it  may  be  so  ?  I 
scarcely  dare  to  pray  that  it  may  be  as  we  desire,  for  I 
have  learned,  by  constant  experience,  that  the  things  we 
set  our  hearts  upon  would  be  injurious.     Then,  be  our  pray- 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  133 

XiT  for  those  things  which  God  sees  best,  and  which  will 
most  effectually  help  us  to  be  pure  and  without  offence  in 
the  path  of  Jesus.' 

The  hopes  excited  by  the  presentation  of  Mr.  Duncan 
to  Urr,  were  not  destined  to  be  realized.  Those  good  men, 
who  were  deeply  sensible  of  the  evils  of  unrestrained  pa- 
tronage, as  established  by  the  iniquitous  act  of  Bolingbroke, 
in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  had  recently  exerted  their  in- 
fluence to  enact  the  Velo  Law,  as  it  has  been  called.  They 
honestly  believed  that  the  ecclesiastical  courts  possessed 
an  inherent  right,  lawfully,  to  enforce  a  mitigation  of  the 
evil ;  and  they  were  willing  to  reconcile  themselves  to  a 
mitigation,  rather  than  seek  a  complete  remedy,  which 
could  only  be  obtained  by  an  application  to  Parliament, 
where  secular  and  party  views  seem  to  overbear  the  tem- 
per and  motives  which  ought  to  be  engaged  in  ordering  the 
affairs  of  the  church  of  Christ.  This  is  not  the  place  to 
discuss  those  weighty  questions,  which  have  since  that  pe- 
riod agitated,  and  do  still  continue  to  agitate  the  church  of 
Scotland,  It  is  enough  to  sa}^,  that  one  of  the  first  opera- 
tions of  the  new  law  was  the  rejection  of  Mr.  Duncan  by 
the  apparent  majority  of  five.  The  patronage  of  Urr  is  held 
by  the  Crown,  and  the  parish  being  divided  between  two 
candidates,  Mr.  Duncan,  a  third,  was  pv-sented  with  a  view 
of  procuring  the  union  of  both  parties  on  his  behalf;  thus 
wisely  '  following  after  things  that  make  for  peace.'  The 
people,  however,  inexperienced  in  the  recent  law,  flattered 
themselves  that  it  might  be  so  worked  as  to  place  the  un- 
restrained power  of  electing  their  pastor  in  their  own  hands. 
It  was  no  stain  on  the  character  of  the  presentee,  to  be  re- 
jected in  these  circumstances,  as  some  of  those  who  exer- 
cised the  Veto  against  him,  declared  openly  that  they 
would  reject  the  Apostle  Paul  himself,  if  presented  by  a 
patron. 

But  this  attempt,  if  successful,  threatened  to  counteract 
the  object  of  the  Veto  Law  altogether,  and  to  convert  a 
salutary  arrangement  into  a  source  of  hostility  between 
patron  and  people.  Stimulated  by  this  fear  of  the  perver- 
sion of  the  law,  some  of  the  very  individuals  who  aided  in 
framing  it,  counselled  Mr.  Duncan  to  persevere,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  opposing  the  legitimate  operation  of  the  newly 
12 


134  MEMOIR     OF 

acquired  right,  but  of  seeking  to  restrain  it  within  due 
bounds.  He,  therefore,  zealously  supported  by  the  well 
educated  and  well  informed  of  the  parish,  appealed  from 
the  decision  of  the  Presbytery  which  rejected  him,  to  the 
hioher  church  court,  with  a  view  to  prove  a  combination 
of  the  people,  for  the  purpose  of  defeating  the  presenta- 
tion, irrespective  of  his  merits,  and  also  to  investigate  the 
validity  of  a  few  of  the  votes. 

From  these  sketchy  remarks,  we  must  return  to  the  indi- 
vidual whose  conduct  under  the  rod  was  to  be  a  test  of  the 
reality  of  her  former  experience. 

The  sunny  7th  of  August  is  still  bright  in  memory,  when 
she  took  her  way  to  the  Hall  of  the  High  School,  to  wit- 
ness that  august  moral  spectacle,  where  the  civic  authori- 
ties come  forth  as  the  patrons  of  education,  and  distribu- 
tors of  honours  acquired  by  the  industry  and  talent  of  their 
juvenile  townsmen, — her  eye  beaming  with  joy  at  the  ex- 
pectation of  seeing  her  little  brother  bow  his  flaxen  locks 
before  the  Lord  Provost,  on  the  reception  of  his  first  prize, 
— her  heart  bounding  with  the  expectation  that  an  hour 
would  bring  her  betrothed  with  the  glad  news  that  all  was 
passed  in  harmony  and  love,  on  the  previous  day,  and  that 
they  might  prepare  together  to  enter  on  the  work  ihey  loved 
best,  at  Urr, 

The  coach  arrived,  and  with  it  the  honoured  father,  not 
the  son  ;  and  on  the  street  were  Mary's  steps  turned  home- 
ward by  the  disclosure  of  the  event.  It  is  not,  perhaps, 
well  for  one  who  partook  deeply  of  that  time  of  trial,  to 
enter  too  minutely  into  the  scene,  or  to  describe  the  sub- 
dued emotion,  the  Christian  and  almost  dignified  calmness 
of  the  hour.  She  passed  some  time  in  her  closet,  and 
obeyed  the  summons  of  the  dinner  bell,  expecting  she  had 
self  command  enough  to  acquit  herself  as  became  one  who 
believes  that  the  Lord  doeth  all  things  well.  But  she  had 
tasked  her  strength  too  heavily.  She  smiled  and  convers- 
ed a  little  at  first,  but  the  expression  of  love  and  sympathy 
in  the  surrounding  countenances  was  too  much, — the  will- 
ing spirit  succumbed  to  the  weakness  of  nature,  and  she.  was 
obliged  to  glide  away.  After  allowing  a  time  free  from 
intrusion,  she  was  followed,  and,  with  dismay,  found  ex- 
tended on  the  floor ;  her  over-exerted  powers  having  for  a 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  135 

time  retreated,  from  that  severe  strain,  by  a  fit  of  fainting 
sickness.  Her  disorder  hung  about  her  for  some  days ; 
but  no  word  of  complaint,  fretfulness,  or  impatience  was 
heard  from  her,  and  the  peace  which  the  world  cannot  take 
away,  soon  acquired  a  renewed  and  stronger  influence  in 
her  heart  than  before  she  was  afflicted.  But  she  will 
speak  best  for  herself. 

In  the  diary,  the  entry  is  brief.  After  stating  the  fact, 
and  that  she  had  been  writing  to  cheer  Mr.  Duncan,  when 
she  sunk  exhausted,  she  adds  : — 

*W.'s  hopes!  where  are  they?  The  sanguine  predic- 
tions of  many  friends  !  what  has  become  of  them  ?  Man 
lays  wise  plans,  but  it  is  with  God  to  bless  or  bring  them 
to  nought.  I  want  truly  to  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  ;"  but 
dread  a  spirit  of  settled  sullenness  or  discontent.  My 
hopes  were  so  precious  !  Yet  the  child  of  God  can  never 
be  in  despair.  I — we — need  chastening,  and  it  has  been 
sent  in  love  and  mercy.  We  may  yet  be  happy  ;  at  least 
resigned  we  must,  and  by  God's  help,  will  be.' 

To  Mr.  Duncan. 
«  August  7. — I  would  write  comfort  to  you,  though  my 
aching  eye  balls  and  pained  head,  tell  that  I  have  need  of 
it  too.  Comfort,  and  sources  of  new  hope,  are  what  we 
may  be  likely  to  turn  to,  though  at  present  I  feel  no  tempta- 
tion of  that  kind  ;  but  do  you  not  think  that  we  should  rather 
search  our  hearts  diligently,  to  see  wherefore  our  God 
contends  with  us  ?  We  have  sinned  in  many  ways.  If 
we  have  not  cast  out  those  sins  before,  let  us  do  so  now  ! 
This  is  a  voice  that  makes  itself  heard.  Let  us  strive  for 
holiness  of  heart  and  life,  and  then  our  God  may  give  us 
so  much  heavenly  peace,  that  we  shall  be  happier_/ar,  than 
if  all  our  wishes  had  been  fulfilled.  He  can  do  this  !  in  so 
far  as  it  regards  man.  I  know  you  will  not  give  place  to 
any  angry  feelings,  but  only  pray  for  your  enemies,  and 
look  on  all  as  coming  direct  from  the  hand  of  God.  I  feel 
that  He  must  have  something  to  teach  you,  and  from  this 
very  thing,  while  I  weep,  I  derive  encouragement;  for 
many  a  careless  shepherd  is  plunged  at  once  into  the  work 
of  the  ministry,  while  those,  who  are  to  be  true  vessels  of 
honour,  are  tried  as  the  silver  is  tried :  but  our  merciful 


136  M  E  M  0  I  R      O  F 

Saviour  watches  the  furnace,  and  does  not  let  it  bum  too 
fiercely.  It  may  be,  my  dear  W.,  that  we  shall,  at  some 
time,  look  back  on  this  cloudy  and  dark  day  as  one  of  the 
happiest  of  our  lives,  if  it  is  the  beginning  of  better  things 
to  our  souls.  I  had  been  indulging  in  the  delightful  hope 
that  your  character  and  graces  would  be  best  improved  by 
the  exercise  of  preaching  and  the  care  of  souls.  But  a 
wise  God  sees  that  more  of  those  disguised  blessings,  which 
come  in  the  form  of  trials,  are  needful  for  you,  and  for  me. 
Oh,  I  hope  it  is  not  through  my  sins,  and  my  negligence 
that  this  has  befallen  you  !  There  is  reason  to  think  he 
designs  us  both  to  glorify  his  name  and  to  win  souls,  or 
he  would  not  take  so  much  pains  with  us,  and  send  us  back 
so  often  to  examine  the  fimndation.  And  shall  we  turn 
away  as  if  we  were  injured,  repining  and  rebelling  against 
the  will  of  God  ?  No  !  let  us  rather  kiss  the  rod  that  smites 
us,  and  exercise  truer  love  than  ever  to  our  King.  We  are 
short-sighted  creatures,  but  our  precious  faith  teaches 
that  all  is  well.  *  *  *  1  pray  that  the  people  and  their 
pastor,  whosoever  he  shall  be,  may  be  blessed  ;  and  we 
too,  doubt  it  not,  shall  not  be  forgotten  of  God.  He  has 
blessings  in  store  for  us  more  precious  than  earth  can  offer. 
I  grieve  for  you  among  comparative  strangers,  to  none  of 
whom  you  can  freely  open  your  own  heart,  oppressed  as  it 
must  be.  But  the  throne  is  your  sure  refuge  ;  there  you 
will  find  relief  Never,  when  things  seemed  to  smile,  did 
ray  heart  cleave  to  you  more  than  now.  You  have  one 
earthly  friend  who  will  never  have  divided  hopes  or  inter- 
ests from  yours. 

*  Farewell,  dear  W.,  and  may  God  ever  bless  you  and 
keep  you,  prays  your  attached  and  sympathiznig 

Mary  Lundie.' 

One  cannot  fail  to  observe  the  simplicity  with  which  she 
unites  herself  in  the  trial  and  in  its  causes,  and  also  with 
which  she  anticipates  her  position  as  the  wife  of  a  clergy- 
man, as  being  in  a  peculiar  manner  that  of  a  servant  of  the 
church.  Her  plan  was  not  to  be  a  help-meet  for  her  hus- 
band alone,  but  to  be  a  succourer  of  many,  who  would  de- 
pend on  his  ministrations  for  spiritual  food.  It  is  the  hap- 
piest of  all  unions  where  the  wife  has  sufficient  experience 
and  love  to  be  inclined  to   follow  up  her  husband's  work 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  187 

among  the  females  of  the  flock,  and  to  guide  the  lambs  to 
the  good  Shepherd.  These  views  of  her  office  rendered 
the  disappointment  in  some  degree  of  a  character  similar 
to  that  of  the  yomig  preacher  ;  and  made  the  trial  of  a  more 
searching  kind  to  her  own  heart. 

The  following  letter  is  written  with  the  same   desire  to 
console  and  to  derive  improvement  from  the  dispensation. 

To  Mr.  Duncan. 

<  F^dinburgh,  August  17, 
*  *  *  '  You  can,  in  active  employ,  in  reference  to 
the  aspect  of  things,  and  in  talking  of  them  with  friends, 
throw  off  some  of  those  feelings  which,  if  all  confined, 
might  become  too  burdensome  ; — all  I  can  do  is  to  keep 
still,  and  muse  and  pray, — and  this  I  truly  do  ;  and  when 
thought  would  become  rebellious,  or  earthly  hope  too  vivid, 
prayer  checks  their  flow,  and  rekindles  that  trust  in  the 
love  of  God,  and  that  sense  of  the  importance  of  that  one 
thing — preparation  for  the  unseen  world — to  which  all  the 
discipline  we  undergo  is  subservient.  What  is  it  to  the 
candidates  for  a  life  of  perfect  bliss  and  endless  duration, 
whether  their  few  years  on  earth  are  spent  in  preparing  for 
jt,  by  delightful  and  easy  lessons,  or  whether  their  upward 
way  is  hedged  round  with  thorns,  and  strewed  with  those 
rough  stones — privation  and  sorrow.  We  know  that  "the 
more  we  mourn  and  suffer  here,  the  sweeter  rest  will  be." 
Jesus  trod  the  way  of  privation  before  us — privation  !  oh 
how  far  beyond  what  we  can,  in  dreariest  moments,  picture ! 
And,  triumphantly  as  he  passed  through  it,  he  left  a  parting 
promise  that  all  his  children  should  follow  in  his  steps,  and 
be  supported  by  his  hand.  Let  us  not  then  refuse,  if  called 
upon,  to  partake  those  sufferings :  His  grace  is  sufficient 
for  us,  and  the  fire  may  frighten,  but  cannot  consume. 
These  thoughts  are  ennobling, — they  nerve  us  to  bear  what 
might,  without  them,  make  us  sink ;  and  faith  is  kindled, 
and  roused  to  lively  exercise,  by  those  very  things  which 
our  spiritual  foes  would  fain  employ  to  slay  it.  Should 
evil  be  said  of  you  falsely,  should  your  hopes  be  frus- 
trated with  aggravations  devised  by  malice,  there  is  but  the 
more  hope,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  you  are  to  be  a  polished 
and  sharpened  arrow  in  the  quiver  of  the  Lord.  We  must 
12* 


138  M  E  M  O  I  R     O  F 

try  to  praise,  however  -it  turns,  and  so  will  God  be  glorified 
in  us.  Ah !  I  would  that  you  might  be  polished  by  actual 
service,  instead  of  long  delay.  Well,  our  God  is  wise  ; 
just  is  he,  and  hates  every  sin  :  but  still  he  loves  his  peo- 
ple, and  I  trust  all  he  does  will  be  in  mercy,  not  in  anger. 
Be  prepared  then,  dear  W.,  for  whatever  comes.  Seek 
submission  in  constant  prayer ; — as  you  pursue  your  solitary 
path,  or  mingle  in  the  eager  converse  of  friends,  still  be 
your  spirit  in  one  place — with  God.  Seek  to  find  Him,  as 
Hall  of  Leicester  beautifully  expresses  it,  *'  the  home  of 
the  soul."  Rest  firmly,  confidingly,  in  Him,  and  you  pos- 
sess a  support  that  the  war  of  elements  can  never  drive 
from  you.  Examine  well,  lest  even  in  your  submission, 
there  be  not  concealed  a  hope  that  this  very  state  of  mind 
will  lead  Him  to  make  a  smooth  way  for  you  at  Urr  yet. 
I  know  it  is  not  inconsistent  with  his  dealings  from  the  be- 
ginning of  time,  that  this  may  be.  But  we  must  not  serve 
Him  for  his  gifts;  and  are  always  safer  when  we  can 
offer  ourselves  a  living  sacrifice,  without  reference  to  what 
may  here  befal  us.  Search  well,  and  seek  to  give  up  every 
earthly  thought,  and  merge  your  wishes  in  a  zeal  for  the 
promotion  of  His  glory.  1  do  not  advise  you  because  I 
think  myself  entitled,  or  you  in  need  of  my  counsel.  No  ; 
each  day  teaches  me  that  I  am  but  dust  and  ashes  ;  and  I 
believe  you  are  taught  by  that  most  wise  and  Holy  Spirit, 
whose  counsels  are  sufficient  to  lead  you,  without  stumbling, 
to  the  land  of  peace  Yet  we  should  "  exhort  one  another 
daily  ;"  and  one,  who  has  so  often  prayed  for  you,  may  be 
excused  for  saying  a  few  words,  from  a  fulness  of  heart, 
beyond  what  she  has  often  expressed.  *  *  Yesterday, 
Mr.  Clark  of  Inverness  preached  at  St.  Mary's — a  solemn 
sermon,  on  the  witness  of  the  Spirit.  He  clearly  set  forth 
the  peace  of  the  heart  that,  being  undivided  and  sincere  in 
its  desire  to  serve  God  and  resign  all  for  Him.  has  this  pre- 
cious testimony.  Oh!  for  such  a  state  as  would  let  it  be 
ever  here,  even  in  my  soul,  and  would  drive  away  all  linger- 
ing endurance  of  sin,  and  fit  me  for  pure  regions,  sensibly 
feeling  that  each  day  brought  me  nearer  to  them.  Let  us 
mutually  pray  that  each  person  in  the  Holy  Trinity  may  work 
in  us,  that  we  may  be  complete,  wanting  nothing,  through 
the  rich  grace  of  God.     *     *     To-day,   Mr.    A.  Murray 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  139 

has  come  to  visit  us  (a  youth  whom  you  may  have  seen  at 
Kelso)  on  his  way  to  London,  whence  he  will  shortly  em- 
bark for  the  Navigator  Islands.  It  once  seemed  as  if  he 
would  never  have  got  forward,  but  a  way  was  opened  for 
his  education  under  Dr.  Pye  Smith ;  his  feeble  health  is 
much  improved,  and  he  is  on  the  eve  of  commencing  his 
labours  in  the  work  he  loves.  I  feel  disposed  rather  to 
take  encouragement  from  the  goodness  of  God  to  one  for 
whom  he  has  provided  education  and  friends,  and  cleared 
for  him  so  wide  a  sphere  of  usefulness.*  His  time  for  you, 
too,  will  come,  and  now  he  is  but  Jit'ing  you  for  it :  so, 
surely,  all  is  best.' 

The  final  confirmation  of  the  Urr  veto,  and  the  appeal 
to  the  Synod,  being  at  last  communicated  to  her,  she 
wrote : — 

^August  28. — Your  sad  letter  came  in  due  time  ;  and 
now,  what  can  we  say,  but  "the  will  of  the  Lord  be  done  ?  " 
I  feel  no  disposition  to  think  of  men,  good  or  bad,  who 
have  been  the  instruments  of  this  trial.  The  Lord's  hand 
is  here,  and  to  it  let  us  look.  Let  me  entreat  you  to  take 
away  your  mind  from  the  outward  circumstances,  and  let 
the  majesty  of  God,  his  holiness,  his  right  to  do  what  he 
■will  with  us,  be  much  on  your  mind.  We  are,  I  trust,  of 
those  whom  he  wills  to  sanctify  wholly  to  himself :  and 
shall  we  refuse  to  taste  the  requisite  chastisement  ?  Let  us 
try  to  say,  as  a  good  man  did  to  Mr.  Venn,  "  I  love  the  rod  ; 
how  gentle  are  the  strokes  I  receive — how  severe  those  I 
deserve."  There  is  one  danger  I  feel,  perhaps  you  do 
also,  and  which  must  be  guarded  against — that  of  praying 
less,  and  sinking  into  a  listless  state,  and  indulging  in  a 
half  acknowledged  feeling  that  our  prayers  have  been  dis- 
regarded. But,  no :  every  prayer  is  heard,  though  in 
wisdom  our  earnest  request  has  been  withheld.  But  this 
let  us  learn — to  let  the  glory  of  God  have  a  larger  share 
in  our  prayers,  and  our  own  selfishness  less.  Had  this 
been,  from   the   first,  the   mainspring  of  our  petitions,  we 


*  The  Rev.  Archibald  Murray,  is  now  in  one  of  the  Navigator  or  Sa- 
moan  Isles,  a  missionary  successful  above  many,  for  a  wide  door  and 
effectual  has  been  opened  to  him  there,  and  many  of  the  swarthy  natives 
have  turned  to  the  Lord. 


140 


MEMOIR      OF 


must  have  felt  clearly  that  they  have  been  granted  ;  for 
this  is  in  strict  accordance  with  the  will  of  God.  But 
make  a  convenant  with  me,  my  dear  friend,  that  you  will 
pray  as  often,  and  as  earnestly,  by  the  help  of  God,  for 
spiritual  blessings,  as  we  have  for  some  time  done  for 
temporal  ones,  and  this  sad  check  may  be  very  useful  to 
us.  Oh  !  it  would  have  been  happy,  as  far  as  we  can 
see — I  scarcely  dare  now  let  myself  think  how  happy  ;  but 
we  know  who  rules  :  and,  even  humanly  speaking,  we  are 
both  young  yet,  and  Providence  may  see  it  best  to  sharpen 
us  better  for  the  work,  before  he  puts  it  into  our  hands  ;  so 
let  us  use  the  time  in  communing  with  him,  and  studying 
his  word. 

To  Mr.  Duncan, 

^Sept.  19. — We  shall  have  no  cause  to  repent  our  trials, 
for  our  foundation  standeth  sure,  and  our  record  is  with  a 
compassionate  Saviour.  We  know  we  have  much  to  learn— 
we  know,  too,  that  he  is  now  teaching  us  ;  and  shall  we 
repine  because  we  are  in  the  school  of  Christ,  among  all 
those  who  can  ever  hope  to  have  part  in  the  first  resurrec- 
tion ?  Our  master  will  not  give  us  one  stripe  too  much,  and, 
even  in  the  midst.  He  smiles  on  us,  and  addresses  us  in 
accents  of  surpassing  love  as  His  ransomed  ones.  His  be- 
loved children.  Glorious  is  the  dispensation  under  which 
we  are  placed  !  It  is  no  new  remark,  that  those  whose 
labour  He  designs  to  bless,  are  prepared  for  it  by  initiatory 
trials.' 

An  entry  in  the  Diary,  next  day,  shows  her  in  her  closet, 
following  up  the  desire  to  realize  the  benefits  which  she 
expects  from  affliction. 

Diary.—'  Sept.  20.— After  reading  what  Venn  says  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  I  have  been  entreating  His  influences  for 
W.  and  myself.  I  would  seek  to  realize  in  this  period  of 
solitude  the  time  when  I  shall  be  no  more  one  of  a  kind 
family  on  earth,  but  shall  stand  before  the  throne,  and,  in 
the  midst  of  myriads,  feel  myself  alone  with  God.  I  want 
more  of  his  daily  presence  and  blessing,  and  I  want  to  be 
strong  in  Him,  that  I  may  not  sink  under,  but  obediently 
submit  to,  whatever  He  designs  for  me.  All  must  come 
from  above,  for  I  can  do  nothing  but  sin.' 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  141 

To  her  correspondent,  near  London,  she  wrote  not  till  a 
month  had  elapsed,  on  this  subject : — 

'  Edinburgh,  Sept.  26. — While  the  Head  of  the  Church 
has  been  training  many  souls,  by  suffering,  for  glory,  it  has 
been  his  good  pleasure  not  to  leave  me  wholly  untried. 
Would  that  I  could  dismiss  every  feeling  but  gratitude  for 
it !  You  heard  of  Urr,  and  you  may  imagine  how  affecting 
your  expressions  in  reference  to  it  were,  and  your  hope 
that  its  shepherd  might  receive  grace  to  lead  his  flock,  &c., 
when  I  tell  you,  that  ere  they  met  my  eyes,  our  hope  with 
regard  to  that  was  over.  *  *  *  You  know  how  trying 
it  must  be,  to  one  full  of  energy,  and  desirous  to  devote  it 
all  to  the  work  of  the  ministry,  to  be  stopped  at  the  very 
door  of  the  temple,  and  told  to  go  again,  and  stand  yet 
another  hour,  in  the  prime  of  the  day,  in  the  market-place  ! 
Your  words  went  straight  to  my  heart,  "  Shall  we  teach 
our  teacher  how  to  instruct  us  ?"  Let  us  wait  in  faith  ;  and, 
being  kept  in  the  hollow  of  the  Father's  hand,  can  trial  be 
an  evil  ?  Blerssed  are  they  who  do  not  see  how  such  a 
trial  is  to  terminate,  and  yet  have  believed  that  all  is  well. 
The  links  of  the  chain,  that  we  cannot  see,  are  in  the  hands 
of  unerring  wisdom;  and  it  is  sweet  just  to  let  them  remain 
there  willingly,  and  to  consent  that  more  should  be  hidden, 
if  He  wills  it.  I  have  been  ten  days  quite  alone,  a  new 
thing  for  me,  all  the  family  being  in  the  country  ;  and  I 
preferred  returning  from  a  visit  in  beautiful  Stirlingshire, 
to  my  quiet  home.  Here  I  have  time  for  thought ;  and, 
when  thought  becomes  perplexity,  and  faith  grows  weary, 
the  mercy-seat  is  near,  and  there  my  spirit  is  revived.' 

In  the  Diary,  at  this  date,  there  is  an  observation  on  one 
of  the  uses  of  social  worship,  which  is  true,  but  will  be  new 
to  those  who  have  not  experienced  its  effect,  by  entering 
the  sanctuary  from  solitude. 

Diary. — '  Sept.  27. — The  close  of  another  solitary  Sab- 
bath. My  present  situation  has  shown  me  a  use  of  public 
worship,  of  which  I  never  thought  before, — the  enliven- 
ing of  those  who  dwell  alone.  It  is  very  refreshing  to  a 
spirit  which  has  poured  out  its  prayer  to  God,  but  without 
one  of  human  kind  to  express  a  feeling  to,  to  mingle  with 
a  large  worshipping  assembly  in  praise  and  prayer.  We 
are  feeble,  and  need  aids,  and  this  is  a  blessed  one,  devised 


142  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

for  US  in  much  wisdom.'  In  this  month  she  wrote  to  a 
friend  who  had  read  the  Life  of  Byron  : — '  As  to  poor  By- 
ron, I  am  glad  you  are  but  shimming  the  annals  of  his  un- 
happy and  degraded  life,  which  I  believe  had  better  have 
been  left  to  perish  in  forgetfulness,  than  dressed  in  the 
smooth  language  of  Moore,  to  teach  mankind  the  way  to 
be  discontented  and  miserable.  Blessed  is  the  lowly  and 
humble  saint  whose  name  is  unknown,  or  known  only  to 
be  despised,  but  whose  record  is  on  high,  and  his  place  se- 
cure in  the  purchased  inheritance  of  Jesus  Christ !  What 
a  glorious  spirit,  what  a  vigorous  character  might  the  heav- 
en-taught Byron  have  been  !  What  engines  of  good  he 
might  have  moved,  what  soul-stirring  songs  of  praise  he 
might  have  penned  ;  songs  that  should  have  filled  the 
mouths  of  the  joyous  and  the  young,  and  cheered  the  lone- 
ly sufferer  in  the  sad  night  watches  !  But  all  his  powers 
were  employed — were  ruined — in  the  service  of  the  prince 
of  darkness,  and  his  name  stands  like  an  upas  tree,  scathed 
and  destructive,  as  far  as  its  influence  can  reach.* 

To  her  Sister  then  in  London  at  School : 
*  Edinburgh,  SeptCTnber  26. — I  rejoice  to  hear  that  you 
are  in  health  and  happiness,  and  thank  our  gracious  God, 
who  watches  over  my  dear  sister  in  her  new  home.  I  am 
grateful  to  the  kind  friends  who  take  so  much  pains  to  im- 
prove you,  and  to  make  you  all  that  we  desire.  I  have 
great  pleasure  in  thinking  of  you,  under  the  kind  care  of 
Mrs.  Evans,  whose  power  to  charm  away  home-sickness  I 
had  many  proofs  of  in  former  days.  Oh,  my  sister,  have 
you  given  you  heart  to  our  blessed  Saviour  ?  Have  you 
asked  him  to  take  it  entirely  for  his  own,  and  to  cleanse  it 
from  all  iniquity  ?  Have  you  tried  to  loYeliim  more,  whose 
love  to  you  passeth  knowledge  ?  Dearest  child,  may  you 
be  taught  by  the  Holy  Spirit,  how  inadequate  earth's  dear- 
est blessings  are  to  make  us  happy,  without  that  love  ;  and 
how  firm  and  abiding  is  this  portion  in  all  outward  changes. 
Oh  !  be  you  of  those  who  early  seek  the  Lord,  and  some- 
times retire  to  your  room,  to  pass  a  few  minutes  in  that 
communion  with  Him,  which  has  made  our  wisest  and  ho- 
liest men  what  they  were. 

Tell  H.  I  am  charmed  with  some  portions  of  Coleridge's 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUXCAN.  143 

Aids  to  Reflection,  though  occasionally  he  gets  either  out 
of  my  depth,  or  his  own,  perhaps  both.  Miss  M.  and  I  are 
reading  together  Ganganelli's  Letters,  which  are  written  in 
simple  and  easy  Italian,  and  display,  for  a  pope,  no  small 
degree  of  candour  and  liberality.  Our  friends  do  not  for- 
get J y,  whose  return  will  be  a  bright  day  for  all  of  us.' 

In  the  month  of  October,  it  was  thought  advisable  that 
she  should  taste  a  little  more  of  the  country  air  before  the 
winter  closed  in,  and  she  enjoyed  a  brief  excursion  among 
kind  friends  in  her  native  county.  She  writes,  '  I  greatly 
admire  the  country,  which  is  pale  and  lovely  in  its  autumn 
dress,  and  often  speak  with  some  of  these  dear  young  peo- 
ple, of  the  kind  and  gracious  Author  of  it  all.  We  make 
little  employments  here,  as  idleness  is  never  happy.  But  no 
wish  has  ever  sprung  up  in  my  heart  that  such  '*  otium  cum 
dignitate"  had  been  allotted  to  me,  for  though  it  is  very 
pleasant,  I  feel  that  my  heart  is  so  apt  to  grow  to  weeds, 
it  needs  the  safeguard  of  steady  employment  ;  and  I 
think  I  should  trifle  likely,  if  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  please 
myself,  as  is  the  case  now.  I  thank  you,  my  dear  mamma, 
and  I  thank  Isabella  Gordon  for  teaching  me  to  fill  up  and 
value  time,  though  I  have  not  always  practised  your  lessons 
to  my  own  satisfaction.  Dear  V.  has  introduced  me  to 
some  of  her  favourite  books,  and  last  night  we  enjoyed 
some  of  Herbert's  rich  quaint  old  poems,  which  contain  as 
much  in  a  line,  as  many  of  late  date  do  in  a  page.  Ever 
since  our  affairs  went  wrong,  I  have  had  a  restless  feeling, 
as  if  I  should  be  better  elsewhere  than  where  I  am.  This 
is  a  wrong  state  of  mind,  and  I  do  not  give  way  to  it.' 

To  Mr.  Duncan. 
*  October  12. — The  Sabbath  was  valued,  and  helped  to 
extend  my  thoughts 

*'  Beyond  the  dark  and  stormy  bound 
That  girds  our  dull  horizon  round." 

Oh,  how  gracious  it  is  in  him  who  seeth  not  as  a  man 
seeth,  to  hear  prayer  whenever  it  is  offered,  and  bless  and 
support  the  soul  that  leans  its  feebleness  on  Him  !  I  would 
be  bound  to  his  service  as  long  as  I  live.  It  makes  me 
happy  to  be  conscious  that  now,  seeing  as  I  do  all  that 


144  M  E  M  o  I  k    0  y 

wealth  can  give,  the  elegance,  the  luxury,  and  the  com- 
plete command  of  time,  1  feel  no  wishes  rising  that  your 
destiny  or  mine  had  been  other  than  it  is.  Obscurity  is 
safest,  and  the  graces  blossom  best  in  connexion  with  regu- 
lar and  daily  employment,  above  all,  when  this  has  the 
glory  of  God  for  its  immediate  object.  So,  to  the  work 
when  our  God  calls  us,  cheerfully  we  will  go,  nor  shrink 
from  any  toil  he  lays  on  us,  assured  of  deriving  strength 
from  His  omnipotent  love.' 

During  a  morning  drive  with  some  of  these  amiable 
friends,  they  visited  the  birth-place  and  former  happy  home 
of  their  family,  now  deserted.  In  her  poems  of  this  year 
is  found  one,  which  was  probably  never  shown  to  the  much- 
loved  companion  to  whom  it  was  addressed. 

<  To  V ,  on  our  visit  to  the  '•  Bower  Woods.^^ 

October  22,  1S35. 

'  Fairer  than  joy's  meridian  day  of  light, 

Which  with  its  radiance  dims  the  dazzled  eyes, 
Is  that  cahn  twilight,  soothing  to  the  sight, 

On  whose  pale  gleam  scenes  dear  to  memory  rise. 

Hast  thou  not  felt  it,  loved  one,  when  thy  heart 

Refused  to  echo  back  the  voice  of  mirth, 
And  mused  in  its  own  solitude  apart, 

On  former  days,  and  friends  released  from  earth  ! 

Yes  ;  and  I  felt  it  with  thee,  on  the  day 

When  we  together  sought  thy  native  bovvers, 
And  trod  the  wood-walks,  where,  in  infancy. 

Thy  playmates  sweet  beguiled  with  thee  the  hours. 

Those  glades  were  dear  to  thee  as  morning's  beam, 
Each  flowering  thorn  thou  knew'st,  each  stately  tree, 

And  every  mossy  plant  that  fringed  the  stream, 
And  lowly  wild-flower  had  a  charm  for  thee. 

Chill  was  the  autumn  breeze  that  o'er  us  blew, 

Faint  was  the  trembling  warbler's  greeting  song. 
And  sere  and  dry,  the  leaves  of  varied  hue 

Fell  on  the  green  sward  as  we  passed  along. 

With  thy  fond  thoughts  the  time  accorded  well, 

A  summer's  day,  too  bright,  had  made  thee  sad. 
For  that  lone  bower,  where  memory  loves  to  dwell, 

No  more  resounds  with  voices  young  and  glad. 


MARY   LUNDIE   DUNCAN.         145 

Silent  and  torn,  it  seems  to  mourn  the  past, 

Cold  desolation  marks  its  mossy  wall, 
The  bending  trees  that  shade  it  from  the  blast, 

Are  monuments  of  joys  beyond  recall. 

I  marked  the  letters  carved  in  that  fair  bower. 
Simple  and  few,  yet  fraught  with  meanings  deep. 

Names  traced  by  sportive  hands  in  some  gay  hour, 
O'er  which  thou  lov'st  to  linger  now  and  weep. 

Yet  in  thy  tears  is  bliss  ;  what,  though  the  voice 

That  was  thy  music,  thrill  thy  heart  no  more  ; 
Its  tuneful  tones  in  heaven-taught  hymns  rejoice  ; 

Its  melody  is  full,  its  faltering  notes  are  o'er. 

And  thou  canst  smile,  in  musing  on  the  past, 

To  hail  the  future  beaming  on  thy  view, 
Where  never  sorrow  can  thy  eye  o'ercast, 

Or  joys  celestial  fade,  or  prove  untrue. 

Then,  dear  one,  though  time's  ruthless  hand  efface 
Each  name  that  marked  the  forest-bower  thine  own, 

And  rolling  years  destroy  each  early  trace 

Of  sunny  hours,  too  bright,  too  quickly  flown. 

Oh  !  be  each  name  enrolled  by  love  divine, 

In  life's  blest  volume,  in  Emmanuel's  land, 
Where  glory  beams  on  every  deep-traced  line. 

And  words  by  Him  inscribed,  through  endless  ages  stand  !' 

Before  her  return  home,  she  passed  a  few  days  in  her 
native  place,  to  experience  other  and  deeper  emotions  than 
those  of  the  friend  who  had  so  recently,  along  with  her, 
explored  the  once  happy  home  of  her  childhood. 

Kelso,  October  23. — '  My  Dearest  Mother, — It  is  some 
hours  since  I  arrived  at  my  beloved  former  home,  after  a 
drive  through  the  well-remembered  country  on  the  finest 
day  that  has  shone  since  I  left  you.  Every  thing  looked 
beautiful  and  bright,  and  though  the  tears  started  in  my 
eyes  as  I  passed  one  object,  then  another,  that  spoke  of 
past  days,  I  was  in  a  more  grateful  state  than  usual  (yet  oh, 
how  little!)  in  the  review  of  mercies  continued  and  mer- 
cies given.  The  Tweed  is  blue  and  sparkling,  as  when  I 
knew  it  first,  and  laughs  along  its  course,  as  if  no  weeping 
eye  ever  turned  to  it  for  sympathy.  It  is  not  a  foolish  feel- 
ing, dear  mamma,  that  makes  every  tree  and  field  around 
13 


146      '  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

the  home  of  childhood  so  very  dear.  It  was  from  them 
that  the  first  impressions  were  derived,  and  the  first  tinge 
given  to  the  thoughts  of  a  spirit  that  cannot  die,  but  will 
have  its  actings  carried  through  eternity.  Our  home  I  did 
not  look  at ;  but  I  could  do  so  now/ 

In  a  scrap  found  among  her  papers,  she  has  written  : — 
<  It  is  my  home  no  longer,  and  yet  the  Tweed  flows  along 
in  the  sunshine  as  before  ;  the  well-known  trees  are  cov- 
ered with  autumn's  pallid  leaves  ;  the  fields,  walks,  and 
houses,  are  what  I  remember  since  long  ago.  To-day, 
when  tracing  some  of  my  old  haunts,  I  could  almost  have 
thought  I  had  never  been  an  exile.  But  ah !  there  is  a 
weight  that  does  not  go,  a  remembrance  that,  when  even 
not  formed  into  a  distinct  thought,  extends  its  sad  and  sha- 
dy influence  through  all  my  heart.  Our  tie  to  this  place, 
its  ornament,  my  revered  and  beloved  father,  has  passed 
from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Life  may  have  new  joys  and 
fresh  colouring,  but  can  never  again  be  the  unscathed  thing 
it  was.  His  memory  sweetly  lives  here,  and  his  child  is 
welcomed  by  many  kindly  voices  and  smiling  faces  for  his 
sake.  Wherever  I  go  I  see  his  picture  hanging.  Oh !  do 
they  remember  what  he  taught  them,  as  well  as  how  he 
looked  !  My  inclination  would  have  induced  me  to  wander 
alone  in  my  retired  walks,  and  prayerfully  to  recall  the 
past ;  but  it  may  not  be,  and  the  society  so  dear  to  my  be- 
loved papa  must  have  a  powerful  interest  for  me.  To- 
morrow is  Sunday — Oh!  may  it  do  me  good;  I  rather 
dread  going  to  church.' 

Sabbath  night,  25th. — '  A  Sabbath  at  Kelso  has  flown, 
and  waked  as  it  passed  many  a  silent  chord,  and  made 
it  vibrate  with  full-fraught  feeling.  It  was  painful  to  go  to 
church,  and  my  courage  melted  into  tears  as  I  passed 
the  threshold.  Painful,  too,  it  was  to  see  my  father's  pul- 
pit, the  very  spot  where  I  have  seen  his  features  glow  with 
earnest  tenderness,  occupied  by  another — a  stranger  once, 
but  now  the  pastor  of  the  flock  he  fed.  The  tones  of  the 
band,  and  the  old  tunes  went  to  my  heart.  In  the  afternoon, 
Mr.  T.  preached  and  baptized  Mr.  Macculloch's  babe,  with 
a  solemn  exhortation  to  him.  It  made  me  think  of  the 
time  when  my  own  papa  held  up  his  first-born,  his  little 


MARY      LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  147 

Mary,  that  she,  too,  might  be  admitted  into  the  pale  of  the 
visible  church. 

'  We  staid  in  church  for  the  Sabbath-school,  as  the 
school-house  is  being  painted.  I  saw  the  youthful  compa- 
ny assemble,  and  was  affected  at  the  small  number  I  re- 
cognized, and  the  change  which  three  years  has  wrought 
upon  such  as  I  did  know.  They  took  their  places  under 
Mrs.  H.'s  kind  eye,  and  I  felt  thankful  that  such  a  direct- 
ress is  left  them.  N.  T.,  my  old  scholar,  came  there  to 
see  me,  and  gave  me  a  cheerful  affectionate  greeting.  She 
is  a  woman  now,  and  a  steady  Christian.  I  urged  her  to 
try  to  meet  with  C.  N.  for  prayer,  as  in  old  times,  and  I 
think  she  will  try.  I  was  ied  to  a  class,  and  getting  into 
the  pew  among  the  little  ones,  a  flood  of  tears  relieved  me 
before  I  could  begin  to  teach  them.  They  were  too  young 
to  understand  the  cause,  and  I  heard  whispers  among  them 
of  "Eh  !  she's  greetin."  Poor  things,  they  did  not  know 
how  dear  that  school  is  to  me,  nor  how  it  is  associated  with 
beings  most  beloved,  and  times  most  precious — with  holy 
lessons  received  by  me  in  childhood,  and  in  turn  given  in 
youth.  Nor  how  the  employ  used  to  revive  me,  and  make 
me  feel  that  even  I  need  not  live  quite  in  vain.' 


148  MEMOIR      OF 


CHAPTER  IX. 

SORROWING    TURNED    INTO    THANKFULNESS, 

The  appeal  to  the  Synod  in  the  case  of  Urr,  prolonged 
the  period  of  suspense  very  painfully,  but  the  triumph  of 
trust  in  the  wisdom  and  love  of  the  divine  dispensation,  is 
clearly  exemplified  in  the  following  letter  : — 

To  Mr.  Duncan, 

*  Edinburgh,  November  16. — Submission  is  the  Chris- 
tian's duty  ;  the  attainment  of  it  his  riches,  the  ornament  of 
his  character,  the  test  of  his  sincerity.  And  if  all  these 
changes,  and  if  many  more  disappointments,  result  in 
teaching  this,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  say  that  we  could 
have  dispensed  with  ojie.  Holy,  lovely  heaven !  change 
never  comes  thither,  sin  does  not  deface  its  joys,  and  they 
cannot  end.  When  we  are  there,  we  shall  be  blest,  and 
every  tiring  should  help  us  to  prepare.  Gracious  Lord  ! 
who  sendeth  sorrows  here  to  detach  our  frail  hearts,  and 
set  them  free  to  rise  !  O,  shall  we  not  glorify  Him  !  Yes, 
— alone  or  united,  be  it  the  joy  of  our  lives  to  show  forth 
His  praise,  and  to  honour  his  commands  by  earnestly  seek- 
ing obedient  hearts.' 

Such  were  the  pious  sentiments  called  forth  by  this  pain- 
ful stroke,  and  with  these  exalted  views  of  the  divine  will 
did  she  at  once  sustain  her  own  soul,  and  convey  comfort 
to  the  hearts  of  those  she  loved.  But  a  new  and  unex- 
pected event  soon  changed  the  current  of  her  feelings,  and 
converted  her  trustful  resignation  into  praise.  While  the 
appeal  on  the  case  of  Urr  was  depending,  Mr.  Duncan  had 
officiated  for  a  short  time  in  Kinross-shire,  as  assistant  to 
the  minister  of  Cleish,  when  that  aged  pastor  died.  The 
parishioners  presented  immediately,  an  almost  unanimous 
petition  to  Mr.  Young,  the  patron,  who  resided  in  the  par- 
ish, praying  that  Mr.  Duncan  should  be  appointed  succes- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  149 

sor.  To  this  petition  the  patron  gave  his  hearty  concur- 
rence, and  Mr.  Duncan  was  in  a  few  days  presented  to  the 
charge.  The  following  entry  in  the  Diary  expresses  in  a 
lively  manner,  the  becoming  sentiments  with  which  Mary 
received  this  gratifying  intelligence,  and  affords  a  new  il- 
lustration of  her  habitual  piety. 

<  Nov.  22. — Now  the  gloom  is  rolled  away,  and  the 
bright  sun  of  happiness  appears.  The  buds  of  hope  and 
promise  become  green  beneath  his  rays — the  sad  heart  re- 
vives and  sends  forth  a  song  of  joy  and  praise,  sweeter 
than  the  song  of  the  birds  at  the  approach  of  spring.  Bless 
the  Lord,  O  my  soul,  and  delight  thyself  in  the  remem- 
brance of  Him.  He  has  seen  the  tears  that  feeble  nature 
shed  in  the  day  of  disappointed  hope  ;  he  has  marked  the 
dread  with  which  coming  events  were  anticipated,  and  he  has 
with  one  word  dispersed  those  fears  and  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  things.  He  has,  by  his  own  hand,  opened  a  way, 
and  pointed  W.  to  pursue  it.  He  has  desired  him  to  pitch 
his  tent  beside  the  flock  at  Cleish,  and  may  we  not  trust 
that  his  blessing  will  be  with  him  hencefor  h,  and  that  this 
district  may  be  brought  into  subjection  to  Jesus.  Away, 
distrust.  The  Lord  has  provided.  How  sweet  an  ending 
to  an  unquiet  year  !  Though  the  earthly  portion  connected 
with  it  be  slender,  yet  godliness  with  contentment  is  great 
gain,  and  if  I  do  not  err,  there  will  be  much  more  than  con- 
tentment. The  19th  was  the  day  of  the  presentation,  and 
now  we  are  doubly  bound,  by  trial  and  care  on  one  hand, 
and  by  abounding  goodness  on  the  other,  to  have  faith  in 
Him  who  leads  his  children  every  step,  and  even  when 
they  dash  their  foot  against  a  stone,  turns  the  pain  to  ad- 
vantage.' 

The  following  letter  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Duncan,  when 
at  Ruthwell : — 

^Edinburgh,  Dec.  3. — Long  may  your  thoughts  rest  on 
your  happy  home  with  as  much  love  for  it  as  you  feel  now ; 
and  long  may  it  flourish  under  the  directing  eye  of  your 
beloved  father.  Your  mention  of  the  dear  departed  one,* 
whose  empty  place  saddens  you  now,  drew  tears  from  my 
eyes.     As  years  roll  on,  we  learn  that  we  were  born  to  die 

*  Mr.  Duncan's  mother. 
13* 


150  MEMOIR     OF 

— we  learn  it  often  when  those  who  were  life  and  light  to 
us  are  taken  away  :  and  anniversaries,  marked  by  sorrow, 
thicken  in  the  revolving  seasons.  But  brighter  in  propor- 
tion should  our  heavenly  hopes  become,  and  with  more 
entire  affiance  should  we  cling  to  the  only  friend  who  can 
never  fail  us.  A  few  mornings  since,  I  lay  awake,  and 
thought  how  sad  it  was  that  I  had  not  my  own  papa  to  bless 
us  both,  and  share  our  joy  now.  But  with  a  vividness  I 
cannot  recall,  the  prospect  of  meeting  him  again,  and  dwell- 
ing with  him  where  he  sees  the  light  of  his  Saviour's  coun- 
tenance, came  before  me,  and  checked  the  momentary  wish 
that  he  were  in  this  poor  dark  world  again.  Ah,  what  an 
unkind  wish !  Be  it  ours,  wherever  we  are,  to  pi'ess  for- 
ward, and  the  pearly  gates  shall  be  opened  for  us,  and  we 
shall  be  with  our  covenant  God,  and  those  he  has  taught  us 
to  love  so  well.     *     * 

'  I  find  it  necessary  to  join  trembling  with  my  happy 
thoughts,  for  many  lessons  do  I  receive,  that  I  know  not 
what  shall  be  on  the  morrow.  Yesterday  M.  A.  and  I  went 
among  the  Canongate  poor,  and  tried  to  get  some  of  our 
absentees  to  school  again.  One  poor  man  I  saw  slowly 
dying  of  consumption  at  his  work  of  shoemaking.  His 
sickly  appearance  interested  me  a  year  ago,  but  I  cannot 
get  a  word  of  him  alone,  for  the  small  room  is  always  filled 
with  his  family,  and  I  cannot  make  out  if  he  is  ready  for 
his  awful  charge.  O  !  vv'hat  scenes  of  sorrow  are  in  the 
world,  when  we  come  to  find  them  out ;  and  how  many  of 
them  caused  by  sin.  To  day  I  went  to  the  Charity  Work- 
house to  see  the  old  women  at  work,  and,  if  God  spare  me 
strength,  I  shall  take  a  day,  weekly,  for  spending  an  hour 
or  two  in  reading  and  talking  with  them.  How  much 
strength  is  spent  for  nought, — how  little  to  the  glory  of  Him 
who  gave  us  all  things  ;  and  yet  awful  as  He  is  in  his 
anger,  and  justly  severe  in  his  punishments,  He  spares  the 
fig-tree  stilly  and  waits  for  the  tardy  fruits.  Shall  we  not 
praise  Him  by  lives  of  consistent  holiness  ?  O  !  we  should 
live  to  him  :  and,  after  all,  even  if  he  had  suffered  the 
clouds  to  blacken  and  the  storm  to  beat,  we  should  have 
had  cause  to  love  him  in  that  dark  day,  for  we  know  that 
He  who  spared  not  his  Son,  can  send  us  nothing  but 
what  is  in  truth  a  blessing,  though  it  may  come  in  the  form 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN. 


151 


of  a  very  heavy  pimisliment.  0  !  pray  more  for  me.  I 
do  feel  that  all  things  are  restless  as  Oc':,<.i's  waves,  and 
could  not  make  me  blest  without  the  hope  of  a  better  life. 

To  Tier  Little  Sister  at  School. 

i  Edinburgh,  December  12,  1835. 
'  My  own  sweet  Sister, — It  always  does  me  good  to 
hear  about  you,  and,  most  of  all,  when  I  am  led  to  hope 
that  our  gracious  God  is  beginning  to  guide  your  feet  into 
the  way  of  peace,  and  to  make  you  his  humble  and  obedient 
child.  He  will  do  it,  for  he  is  full  of  love  to  our  poor  race, 
and  is  not  willing  that  any  should  perish ;  and  he  would 
not  have  put  into  your  heart  a  desire  to  love  him,  without 
designing  to  give  you  the  requisite  grace,  and  to  teach  you 
by  the  Holy  Spirit.  Cease  to  look  for  anything  good  in 
yourself ;  for,  should  you  live  to  be  one  hundred  years  old, 
you  ivill  never  find  it.  The  corruption  of  our  hearts  lies 
too  deep  for  anything  but  the  blood  of  Jesus  to  wash  away, 
and  O,  my  J y,  does  it  not  till  you  with  love  and  sor- 
row to  think  how  willingly  he  shed  it,  and  how  often  you 
have  refused  to  wash  and  be  clean?  Your  evil  heart  will 
tempt  you  to  wait  a  little.  But  God  says,  seek  me  early, 
"  To-day  if  you  will  hear,"  &c. ;  and  you  must  not  wait ; 
there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Life  is  short,  and  should  be  em- 
ployed in  preparing  for  the  eternity  that  will  quickly  come. 
Death  would  not  wait  if  God  sent  him  to  you ;  and  more 
than  all,  the  good  Shepherd  is  waiting  now,  and  smiling 
kindly  on  you,  and  asking  you  to  come  that  your  soul  may 
live  !  Oh  !  may  he  bear  you  in  his  bosom,  and  hide  you 
under  his  wings  for  ever.' 

To  Mr.  Duncan. 
*  Edinburgh^  December  30. — I  rejoice  to  hear  that  you 
preached  with  ease  on  Sunday,  and  hope  some  word  went 
home  to  the  conscience.  When  sermons  are  prepared  with 
prayer^  may  we  not  hope  that  they  will  prove  useful  to  some 
hearer,  whose  case  we  may  be  ignorant  of,  but  for  whose 
sake  the  subject  has  been  suggested  to  the  preacher  by  the 
Searcher  of  hearts  1  I  long  to  know  more  about  the  people 
of  Cleish,  their  chief  characteristics,  and  their  state  of  ad- 
vancement;  and,  as  you  become  acquainted  with  them, 


152  MEMOIR     OF 

you  will  let  me  know  the  result  of  your  observations.  Oh ! 
my  friend,  have  we  not  cause  to  be  happy  and  grateful  1 
We  shall  be  so  indeed  if  we  look  to  God  as  the  first  source 
of  love,  the  sun  of  our  horizon,  and  regard  each  other's 
love,  however  bright,  however  steady,  but  as  the  light  of  a 
twinkling  star  which  we  may  gaze  on  with  delight,  so  we 
never  forget  that  no  sweet  beam  would  reach  us  but  for  our 
glorious  sun.  But  if  we  love  the  star  too  well,  and  ascribe 
to  it  the  fertility  of  the  earth,  and  the  bright  colouring  of 
the  flowers,  have  not  our  minds  become  enfeebled  and  dis- 
eased, and  shall  we  not  one  day  look  back  on  our  folly  with 
grief  and  wonder  ?  *  *  *  However  well  we  may  love, 
it  shall  not  be  idolatry,  if  we  are  spiritually-minded,  and 
give  our  first,  our  best,  our  all  to  God.  Seek  to  do  this,  I 
conjure  you,  and  let  me  feel  at  peace  on  your  account.  Let 
me  not  sink  under  the  thought  that  that  attachment  which 
I  fondly  hoped  would  prove  a  source  of  nothing  but  good 
to  you,  has  loosened  your  hold  of  the  cross,  and  made  you 
tread  the  pilgrim's  path  with  slower  and  less  resolute  steps. 
If  it  be  so,  can  we  expect  to  be  spared  to  each  other,  or 
that,  being  spared,  we  shall  enjoy  the  peace  we  hope  for, 
or  be  shining  lights  in  our  day  and  generation  ?  These  are 
solemn  thoughts,  and  the  more  so,  because  this  year  is  just 
closing, — this  year  in  which  we  have  had  so  much  to  drive 
us  to  self-searching,  as  well  as  to  fill  us  with  praigfe.  *  * 
And  now,  let  me  wish  you  a  peaceful  exit  of  the  old,  and 
a  happy  entrance  on  the  new,  year.  When  its  first  hour 
draws  on,  my  hopes  and  blessings  will  be  towards  you ; 
and  if  it  be  in  prayer,  it  cannot  be  wrong.' 

The  events  of  the  year  1835  were  thus  wound  up,  and 
exhibit  her  full  of  love  and  zeal,  active  in  duty,  patient  in 
tribulation,  instant  in  prayer.  Souls,  whether  of  strangers 
or  of  endeared  friends,  were  of  inestimable  price  in  her 
sight :  to  win  them  to  the  Saviour,  or  to  purify  her  own, 
and  render  it  more  meet  for  the  inheritance  of  the  saints, 
was  her  ceaseless  aim.  She  had  selected  the  position  of 
partner  to  a  clergyman  ;  and  now  that  his  station  was  ap- 
pointed, she  prepared  herself  as  sedulously  for  her  share 
in  the  duties  of  a  retired  country  parish  as  though  she  had 
resting  on  herself  all  the  pastoral  responsibility. 

Diary. — ^January  1,  1836. — The  year  1835,  with  all 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  153 

its  perplexities  and  its  joys,  has  mingled  itself  with  things 
which  have  been.  It  was  begun  with  earnest  resolves  to 
prefer  God's  law  to  all  other  things,  to  resist  temptation, 
and  break  snares  even  when  they  were  twining  most  allur- 
ingly around  me.  These  thoughts  and  prayers  were  not 
without  some  effect.  Yet — should  I  have  believed  the 
vision  had  it  been  shown  me  when  the  year  began  1  Alas ! 
human  strength  is  but  weakness,  and  constantly  contracted 
pollution  needs  constant  washing  in  my  Lord's  shed  blood. 
How  can  I  grieve  Him  who  gave  his  life  for  me  ?  My 
earthly  friends  I  have  seen.  There  are  some  whose  smile 
is  dear  to  me  as  the  light  of  morning,  and  whose  voice  is 
melody  to  my  soul.  Them  I  do  not  forget.  To  them  I 
could  not  be  untrue.  Yet  I  am  unmindful  of  Him  whose 
eye  is  ever  on  me,  whose  ear  marks  every  word  on  my 
tongue,  who  loves  me,  too,  far  better  than  any  human 
heart  can  love,  and  who  will  call  me  to  account  for  all  my 
days  of  negligence  and  coldness.  Great  God!  take  me 
and  make  me  holy,  and  melt  me  with  thy  love ;  and  may 
this  year  be  marked  with  a  clear  sense  of  forgiveness,  and 
a  constant  dedication  of  myself  to  thee.  Oh  !  send  a  bless- 
ing larger  than  I  can  contain.  This  year  may  produce 
permanent  changes  in  my  condition  :  we  cannot  but  hope, 
but  would  leave  all  to  our  King.  Meantime,  may  it  be 
spent  to  his  glory.  I  would  observe  a  few  points  to  aim 
at;  1st,  More  openness  and  confidence  with  my  dearest 
mother ;  2d,  Self-denial ;  3d,  Diligent  improvement  of 
every  hour  ;  4th,  Lowliness,  esteeming  others  better  than 
myself,  not  wishing  to  be  noticed  or  admired  for  my  singing, 
looks,  or  conversation.  Ah  !  how  mean  and  low  is  the 
state  of  the  mind  that  can  let  in  such  guests.  I  would  be 
emptied  of  self,  and  made,  like  my  Saviour,  meek,  lowly, 
humble,  and  long-suffering.' 

Two  lines  written  at  this  date  show  her  ready  sympathy 
with  the  afflictions  of  others,  referring  as  they  do  to  a  neigh- 
bouring family  of  but  recent  acquaintance,  and  remind  us 
again  of  a  never-failing  method  by  which  we  may  succour 
the  afflicted,  even  when  we  have  no  opportunity  of  minis- 
tering to  them  personally  : — '  Colonel  B died  yester- 
day, and  his  wife  and  little  ones  are  desolate.  Let  me 
pray  much  for  them.' 


154  MEMOIROF 

Explaining  her  circumstances  and  prospects  to  her  friend 
Mrs.  Evans,  she  wrote  : — '  Do  not,  my  beloved  friend,  for 
one  moment  regret  that  I  have  not  sought  wealth  and  its 
accompaniments  in  my  choice  for  life.  You  know  I  was 
not  brought  up  to  be  rich ;  my  habits  do  not  require  it ; 
and  my  real  welfare  is  better  advanced  without  what  has 
proved  a  snare  to  many.  I  love  the  work  to  which  my 
friend  has  devoted  himself,  and  shall  have  more  opportuni- 
ties of  seeking  to  glorify  God  in  doing  good  to  my  fellow- 
immortals  than  I  might  probably  have  met  with  in  any 
other  station.  I  do  hope  it  is  the  God  whom  I  desire  to 
serve  who  has  appointed  my  ]ot.  *  *  *  Thus  I  have 
simply  told  you,  my  second  mother,  the  facts  of  the  case: 
Mr.  Duncan  loves  me  very  much,  and  so  far  as  human 
foresight  can  discern,  I  have  a  fair  prospect  of  domestic 
happiness.' 

To  her  lately  found  London  school-fellow,  after  mention- 
ing various  works  of  taste,  which  they  had  mutually  been 
reading,  such  as  De  la  Martine's  Travels  in  the  East,  and 
after  them  Goode  on  the  Better  Covenant,  and  Edwards 
on  Redemption,  she  adds  '  Ah !  M.  A.  dear,  were  our  at- 
tainments equal  to  our  advantages,  how  different  we  should 
be.  As  it  is,  the  remembrance  of  books  and  sermons,  and 
converse  that  should  have  quickened  our  steps  towards  our 
sinless  heavenly  home,  ought  to  lay  us  very  low  at  the  feet 
of  Jesus,  and  to  make  us  feel  that  our  best  hours  have  need 
of  being  washed  in  his  atoning  blood,  and  as  it  were  anni- 
hilated, at  least  as  affording  us  the  smallest  ground  of  re- 
liance. Do  you  not  feel  safest  and  happiest  when  on  your 
knees,  opening  the  secret  places  of  your  heart  to  God? 
Let  us,  dear,  live  more  on  prayer.  Our  minds  seek  other 
food  ;  amusement  and  instruction  from  other  sources  ;  and 
it  is  well.  But  through  all  this,  sweet  communion  with 
our  Lord  should  be  maintained,  that  we  may  grow  into  his 
likeness,  and  transcribe  his  blessed  example  into  our  lives.' 

Her  friend,  near  London,  who  drew  forth  her  sympathies, 
and  enlivened  her  piety  to  its  most  ardent  warmth,  had 
been  in  deep  and  prolonged  affliction.  To  her  she  wrote 
in  March  in  such  a  strain,  that  the  reader  melts  at  the  hu- 
mility which  ardour  and  exaltation  serve  but  to  increase  : 

'  March,  1836. — It  is  a  blessed  thing  to  learn  in  whatso- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  155 

ever  state  we  are,  therewith  to  be  content.  May  the  Holy- 
Spirit  perfect  the  work  of  patience,  and  give  you  bright  and 
absorbing  views  of  our  better  house  above.  Holy  courts 
of  our  God  !  we  shall  meet  there  no  longer  to  speak  of  sins 
and  short-comings,  but  to  be  lost  in  the  glory  of  the  Eter- 
nal, and  have  but  one  aim,  full,  satisfying,  and  enrapturing 
to  do  Him  honour,  who  loved,  and  saved,  and  cleansed  us, 
and  gave  us  a  place  before  His  throne.  Should  not  such 
a  hope  make  light  to  arise  even  in  darkness  for  us,  and  in- 
vigorate and  cheer  us  onward  in  the  narrow  way.  Oh, 
for  a  clear  and  never-failing  evidence  that  we  are  advanc- 
ing to  this  bourne  continually.' 

To  a  friend  in  Kelso. 
*  Edinburgh,  April  29. — *  *  *  To  me  this  has  been 
a  weary  time,  and  I  have  sickened  for  fresh  air  and  green 
fields  ;  but  I  know  that  the  smallest  and  greatest  events  of 
my  life  are  ordered  by  a  gracious  God,  and  I  think  I  am 
learning  to  be  a  little  more  submissive,  and  not  to  look  for 
so  much  happiness  in  this  poor  world  as  I  once  did.  "  He 
shall  sit  as  a  refiner  and  purifier  of  silver,"  and  make  me 
and  all  his  dear  children  meet  for  a  better  world,  by  every 
turn  of  his  providence.'  To  the  same  dear  friend  she  wrote 
nearer  the  time  of  her  marriage  : — '     *  *  *     Your 

beautiful  present  will  be  very  useful  to  me,  and  standing 
before  me  in  my  private  hours,  will  remind  me  of  you,  and 
bring  to  my  heart  the  cheering  hope,  that  the  daughter  of 
those  who  have  been  so  dear  to  you,  is  still  helped  and 
strengthened  by  your  prayers.  Ah  !  do  pray  much  for  me, 
dear  friend.  I  feel  that  I  need  it  much  at  present,  and  I 
always  shall.  When  a  thought  of  me  glances  across  your 
mind,  turn  it  into  a  petition,  for  I  would  not  be  a  barren  fig- 
tree  to  stand  before  the  sacred  courts  of  my  God,  and  by  a 
show  of  useless  leaves,  hinder  others  from  bearing  the  pre- 
cious fruits  of  righteousness.  The  situation  on  which  I 
am  about  to  enter,  is  a  most  responsible  one,  for  I  must  be 
in  some  degree  conspicuous  to  those  around  me,  and  if 
they  get  evil  instead  of  good  by  my  influence,  Oh !  how 
shall  I  answer  it?  But  my  hope  is  in  Him,  who  increas- 
eth  strength  to  those  who  have  no  might ;  and  when  I  think 
of  his  Almighty  arm  being  around  all  his  redeemed  ones, 


156  MEMOIR     OF 

doubt  and  fear  are  changed  to  a  calm  and  trusting  peace. 
But  these  things  show  you  how  much  I  need  the  supplica- 
tions of  those  to  whom  I  am  united  in  Jesus  Christ.  I  often 
remember  the  time  when  I  was  your  little  bridesmaid, 
knowing  little  of  the  solemnity  and  the  responsibilities  of 
marriage,  but  sincerely  interested  in  your  happiness.  You 
have  gained  much  experience  since  that  time  ;  why  will 
you  not  help  me  with  it  ?  You  say,  if  I  were  not  the  daugh- 
ter of  my  dear  mother,  you  would  tell  me  some  things  that 
might  be  useful.  Do  not  refuse  me  one  privilege  because 
I  enjoy  another.  You  may  give  me  counsel  in  a  different 
form,  or  tell  me  some  things  she  may  not  think  of,  and  I 
shall  be  truly  grateful  if  you  will.  *  *         j  took 

leave  of  my  pleasant  post  among  the  aged  women  in  the 
Workhouse  two  days  ago,  and  Providence  sent  a  young  lady 
of  deep  piety  to  more  than  fill  my  vacant  place.  I  felt  hap- 
py and  thankful  to  be  allowed  to  introduce  her  among  them, 
when  I  bade  them  farewell.' 

In  the  month  of  May  she  wrote  to  her  friend  near  Lon- 
don in  rather  a  mourning  strain,  in  consequence  of  some 
domestic  obstacles,  which  for  a  time  threw  difficuhies  in 
her  way.  But  they,  like  other  trials,  led  her,  as  ever,  to 
draw  nearer  to  her  Saviour. 

^  May,  1836. — Could  you  have  lived  in  my  head  for  a 
day  or  two  this  spring,  you  would  have  encountered  such 
a  whirl  of  anxieties,  and  changes,  and  uncertainties,  and 
fears,  as  would  have  made  you  pity,  and  be  ashamed,  for 
one  of  the  sheep  of  the  fold  who  could  be  so  affected  by 
any  thing  that  did  not  take  her  away  from  the  green  pas- 
tures and  the  still  waters.  In  the  midst  of  all  1  see  the 
loveliness  of  Jesus,  and  the  excellence  of  the  portion  he 
offers  in  clear  contrast  with  the  fleeting  bubbles  of  this 
world.  I  see,  and  love,  and  admire.  Yet  I  fear  that  all 
this  spring's  work  has  not  led  me  to  a  more  entire  surren- 
der of  self  to  Him.  Many  wandering  thoughts  have  min- 
gled Avith  my  sacrifice,  and  many  A^ain  thoughts  have  es- 
caped me.  But  His  dealings  with  me  are  all  right,  and  I 
most  thankfully  feel  that  in  Him  I  have  what  neither  life 
nor  death  can  deprive  me  of;  and  He  would  not  have  given 
me  all  those  subjects  for  thought,  but  to  make  earth  seem 
less  attractive,  and  heaven  shine  on  me  with  more  of  its 


MARY     LITNDIE     DUNCAN.  157 

own  glory.  *  *  *  f  j^g  night  wears  away, 

and  soon  will  dawn  a  morning  without  clouds.  How  much 
to  animate  and  to  solemnize  there  is  in  this  thought !  How 
much  to  make  us  look  past  the  small  nothings  of  time  to 
the  eternal  hills  !  My  own  friend  !  to  which  of  us  the  call 
may  come  first  we  know  not,  but  O  !  how  sweet  and  firm 
is  the  love  that  binds  us  to  Christ,  and  in  him  to  each 
other  ;  and  if  it  be  so  now,  what  will  it  be  when  we  have 
met  to  part  no  more,  and  have  been  freed  from  all  that  dims 
the  intellect,  and  chains  the  spirit,  and  turns  it  from  the  ob- 
jects to  which  it  will  then  be  for  ever  and  joyfully  directed. 
Oh  !  are  not  all  things  ours  who  have  a  hope  so  full  of  im- 
mortality !  "When  I  come  back  from  such  precious  hopes, 
warranted  by  the  word  of  a  Saviour,  and  look  at  my  own 
inconsistent  heart  and  life,  stained  with  much  evil,  I  am 
filled  with  sorrow.  But  my  Intercessor  never  fails.  What 
a  dispensation  of  mercy  we  live  under  !' 

The  difficulties  being  removed,  she  wrote  to  the  same 
dear  friend,  in  her  usual  sweetly  dependent  and  watching 
frame  : — 

'  June  1836. — Oh!  what  a  Saviour  is  ours,  that  even  the 
depth  of  our  own  corruption  should  be  the  means  of  making 
his  love  more  manifest  to  us !  How  can  we  ever  wilfully 
grieve  this  "  Friend,  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother  ?" 
My  steps  in  the  heavenly  course  have  been  slow  and  fal- 
tering, and  many  who  commenced  it  later,  have  far  outrun 
me.  I  only  wonder  that  I  have  not  been  withered  away 
like  the  fruitless  fig-tree.  But  since  I  am  spared,  I  trust  it 
is  a  token  for  good.  There  is  no  Lord  like  ours — none 
other  would  have  had  patience  with  me.  Oh  !  I  desire  to 
love  him  with  all  my  heart,  and  I  feel  with  you  that  it  will 
be  joy  unspeakable  to  be  received  into  that  place,  where  it 
will  be  impossible  to  sin.  Pray  for  me,  dearest,  as  a  poor 
wanderer,  who  would  fain  cling  to  her  Lord,  but  often  feels 
her  steps  decline.  Oh !  when  will  he  visit  me  with  the  light 
of  his  countenance,  and  make  me  feel  the  loss  of  his  favour, 
or  of  one  degree  of  it,  a  sorrow  that  all  the  bliss  of  this 
world  could  not  make  tolerable  to  me  for  one  hour.  I  have 
complete  trust  in  Him.  I  know  that  He  is  God,  and  every 
word  of  his  is  truth ;  but  I  have  felt  my  own  weakness  in 
so  many  ways,  that  I  sometimes  fear  to  lift  up  my  soul  to 
14 


158  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

9 

him.     He  will  never  forsake  me,  a  sinner,  whom  he  very 
early  chose  for  a  vessel  of  mercy ;  but  I  may  be  one  of 
those  who  are  saved,  "  yet  so  as  by  fire."     I  maybe  much 
lower  in  holiness  and  bliss  in  heaven,  than  those  with  whom 
my  heart  is  knit  on  earth.     I  may  grieve,  instead  of  glorify- 
ing, my  blessed  Lord,  by  living  for  something  else  more 
than  for  his  honour.     Ah  !  do  not  cease  to  entreat  him  to 
show  mercy  to  me,  and  sanctify  me  wholly.     1  am  very, 
very  happy  as   regards   my  present  prospects.     When  I 
think  of  what  I  deserve,  and  what  I  have,  I  am  filled  with 
wonder.     The  clouds  that  gathered  round  us  for  some  time, 
are  flying  away,  and  though  it  will  never  be  all  bright  till 
we  are  in  heaven,  there  are  many  gleams  of  sunshine.     A 
dear  friend  of  ours,  Miss  Frazer,  is  dying  fast  of  water  on 
the  chest.     Many  sorrows  have  turned  her  hair  too  early 
grey,  and  given  her  a  subdued,  placid,  heaven-waiting  look, 
unlike  any  thing  I  ever  saw.     She  is  the  last  of  her  race, 
and  many  of  the  strong  and  vigorous  have  fallen  before  her. 
But  what  peace,  what  rapture  is  in  her  heart  and  on  her 
lips  !     Amid  her  laboured  breathings,  she   speaks  of  the 
love  of  her  Redeemer,  who  is  very  near  her  in  the  day  of 
her  extremity,  and  tells  her  friends  to  give  thanks  on  her 
behalf.     She  longs  to  be  with  him,  and  feels  no  care  now 
about  leaving  the  various  useful  works  in  which  zeal  for 
her  God  had  engaged  her,  and  where  her  loss  will  be  so 
sadly  felt.     The  Bridegroom  calls,  and  she  is  ready  to  go 
out  to  meet  him.     May  you  and  I  thus  die  in  the  sheltering 
arms  of  Jesus !' 

To  her  Edinburgh  class-fellow,  then  in  the  countr}'-,  she 
wrote  in  June  : — 

*  We  only  visited  the  General  Assembly  once,  at  the 
close.  It  was  a  fine  scene.  It  was  crowded  with  minis- 
ters and  people,  and  the  Moderator  addressed  them  solemn- 
ly, summing  up  the  business,  and  giving  a  view  of  the  con- 
dition of  the  Church.  Then  the  full  body  of  voice  in  sing- 
ing the  psalm  was  quite  spirit-stirring,  and  the  thought  that 
there  were  present  the  teachers  of  thousands  of  God's  peo- 
iple,  and  that  on  their  faithfulness  or  apathy  the  fate  of  souls 
might  rest,  called  forth  an  earnest  prayer,  that  the  Lord  of 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  15^ 

Sabaoth  would  strengthen  and  enlighten  those  labourers  in 
his  vineyard.' 

A  poem  to  W.  \V.  D., '  with  a  hair  brooch/  was  written 
and  presented  about  this  time : — 

*  Thou  needst  not  talisman  or  gem, 

To  turn  thy  heart  to  me, 
While  nature  wears  her  diadem 

Of  star,  and  hill,  and  tree. 

All,  with  a  whisper  sweet  and  low, 

Breathe  of  the  happy  past — 
It  lives  in  sunset's  golden  glow, 

Nor  dies  in  night's  chill  blast. 

A  rose-bud  from  the  bowers  of  springs 

A  lily  of  the  vale,  -; 

Better  than  gold  or  costly  thing, 
Can  tell  affection's  tale. 

Yet  roses  fade,  and  lilies  die, 

Thou  canst  not  stay  their  doom, 
Or  read  of  love  that  will  not  fly. 

In  their  departed  bloom.  ; 

But  this  memorial,  not  so  bright, 

Is  not  so  frail  as  they  ; 
It  will  not  shrink  from  frosts  by  night, 

Or  droop  'neath  summer's  ray. 

Should  heavenly  Wisdom  ever  tear  ' 

Thy  loved  one  from  thy  side, 
This  little  lock  of  shining  hair 

Shall  near  thee  still  abide. 

Should  He  with  years  of  pleasure  bless 

Thy  long,  thy  faithful  truth. 
Thou  still  wilt  smile  upon  the  tress, 

Bright  with  the  dreams  of  youth. 

Then  guard  the  pledge  upon  thy  breast, 

The  treasure  in  thy  heart ; 
And  may  we  meet  where  love  is  blest. 

And  saved  ones  cannot  part.' 

May  26,  1836. 

Diary. — 'May  5. — This  is  the  day  appointed  for  humilia- 
tion and  prayer ;  and  truly  there  is  that  in  the  review  of  the 


1-60  MEMOIR     OF 

past  which  ought  to  humble  me.  AVhen  I  glance  back  on 
many  days  of  mercy,  I  see  a  crowd  of  sins  filling  them,  and 
perhaps  those  that  have  been  marked  by  the  greatest  out- 
ward happiness,  have  been  the  most  sinful.  God  has  wait- 
ed, and  had  patience  with  me,  and  given  me  very  many  good 
things;  nor  has  he  withheld  rebuke  and  fear.  He  has 
sought,  in  all  ways  to  win  me  to  himself;  and  how  often, 
when  he  looked  for  grapes,  has  he  found  wild  grapes  !  * 
*  *  The  frequent  prayer  of  my  heart,  in  reference  to  my 
prospects,  has  been,  "  Thy  will  be  done;"  and  yet  my 
w^ays  have  often  been  quite  opposed  to  that  holy  will.     "  In 

heaven,"  dear  F writes,  "  it  will  be  quite  irnpossible 

for  me  to  sin."  Oh,  blessed  impossibility  !  How  often 
have  I  deemed  myself  fenced  round  with  what  would  keep 
me  from  sin,  and  yet  have  been  drawn  aside  !  But  then  1 
shall  be  as  my  Saviour  is  ;  and  if  I,  in  truth,  desire  it,  I 
must  keep  my  model  ever  before  me  here,  and  not  shut  my 
eyes  on  Him,  to  feed  on  ashes.      On  my  birth-day,  my  dear 

W was  here.     Oh,  I   should  like  to  help  him  on  to 

heaven  ;  and  if  it  please  God  to  fulfil  our  hopes,  I  shall  be 
better  able  to  do  it  than  now.  Our  God  knoweth  that  we 
love  Him,  and  will,  I  do  believe,  bless  and  lead  us  all  our 
life  long.  I  would  pray  much  for  our  connexion,  that  it 
may  give  glory  to  God,  and  profit  to  us,  and  do  much  for 
the  spread  of  Jesus'  kingdom  in  his  people's  hearts,  and  in 
the  whole  world.' 

« June  5. — During  the  last  month,  prospects  have  assum- 
ed an  air  of  greater  certainty,  and  hope  and  happiness  are 
my  prevailing  feeling,  and  sometimes  thankfulness.  But 
must  mine  always  be  the  language  of  complaint  ?  I  have 
felt  earth  twining  round  me,  and  gaining  on  me.  The 
needful  preparations  have  engrossed  my  thoughts  at  sea- 
sons when  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  allude  to  them 
by  word  or  action.  They  have  mingled  in  my  attempts  to 
pray,  and  drawn  me  aside  when  the  word  of  truth  was 
sounding  in  my  ears.'  (It  is  but  just  to  say  that  not  the 
preparation  of  her  personal  accommodations  alone  devolved 
on  her,  but  in  some  degree  the  care  of  selecting  domestic 
conveniences.)  '  Ah,  deceitful  heart,  when  shall  I  conquer 
thee  !  Shall  eternity  and  its  sublime  and  awful,  but  most 
delightful  realities,  be  driven  into  the  second  place,  for  the 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUX  CAN.  161 

sake  of  "  the  meat  that  perisheth,"  and  with  which,  for 
aught  I  know,  I  may  be  done  in  an  hour  or  a  day  !  I  am 
a  faithless  child  of  Jesus,  but  still  his  child,  because  he 
chose  me  in  his  free  mercy,  and  ransomed  me.  Would 
that  I  had  such  a  heart,  that  I  could  serve  the  Lord  in- 
deed, and  keep  his  commandments.  I  am  afraid  of  the 
next  five  weeks.  The  last  spent  "  in  my  mother's  house 
in  my  youth."  There  will  be  many  plans  to  form,  and 
much  of  extra  exertion  to  be  got  through,  and  shall  I  be 
carried  farther  from  my  King?  Now,  let  me  have  more 
time  for  retirement  and  prayer ;  my  life  must  languish 
without  it.  Let  me  seek  such  a  spiritual  frame  as  may 
enable  me  to  look  on  "  time's  things"  as  naught  compared 
with  my  own  and  my  neighbour's  immortal  interests.  I 
look  with  solicitude,  but  still  more  with  joy,  to  the  approach- 
ing event.  The  lines  have  fallen  unto  me  in  pleasant 
places.  I  pray,  my  dear  Saviour,  to  make  this  union  the 
means  of  promoting  the  life  of  faith  in  our  own  souls,  and 
of  spreading  its  glorious  kingdom  all  around  us.  Great 
may  be  our  fears  from  our  own  sins  and  infirmities,  but 
what  may  we  not  hope  from  his  large  and  remembered  pro- 
mises 1  Shine  on  us  with  thy  light,  O  Lord  !  revive  thy 
work  !  and  bless  the  attempts  of  that  pastor  of  thine,  to  win 
souls  ;  and  let  us  be  as  a  garden  of  the  Lord,  watered  with 
the  rain  and  dew  of  the  Spirit,  that  shall  make  us  ever 
fresh  and  green  !  O  may  holiness  be  written  in  our  hearts 
and  lives  !  May  zeal  for  God  surround  us,  and  our  own 
things  be  to  us  as  nothing,  compared  with  the  honour  of 
our  Saviour's  name  !' 

This  is  the  last  entry  in  the  Diary  before  the  11th  of 
July,  when  the  marriage  was  solemnized. 


w 


162  MEMOIROF 


CHAPTER  X. 

A    NEW    HOME. 

Among  the  circumstances  of  her  marriage  day,  only  one 
recurs  to  the  imagination  with  the  vividness  of  reality,  as 
worthy  to  be  particularized,  and  it  will  bring  the  image  of 
her  who  is  now  a  bride  in  heaven,  in  the  beauty  of  her 
holy,  humble,  beaming  smile,  to  the  mind  of  many  a  loving 
and  beloved  friend.  A  party  of  lively  and  interested  cousins 
and  friends  had  busied  themselves  in  decorating  the  draw- 
ing-room for  the  solemn  service,  during  the  morning. 
After  their  pleasant  task  was  accomplished,  and  they  had 
retired,  one  who  felt  a  quieter  and  more  profound  anxiety 
for  her  happiness,  stole  gently  to  that  room,  which,  for  the 
time,  seemed  to  possess  the  air  of  a  sanctuary.  The  door 
having  been  opened  noiselessly,  the  chamber  was  survey- 
ed. There  hung  the  gay  bouquets  of  flowers,  which,  in 
compliment  to  the  taste  of  Mary,  were  in  unusual  profu- 
sion. There  lay  the  gaily  adorned  bride's  cake,  which, 
according  to  the  fanciful  custom  of  the  country,  is  elevated 
into  great  importance.  There  stood  the  sofa,  wheeled 
with  its  back  to  the  light,  from  which  the  pair  were  to  rise 
to  take  their  solemn  vow  ;  and  there  in  front  of  that  sofa 
kneeled  the  lovely  bride,  so  deeply  absorbed  in  communion 
with  her  God,  that  she  was  unconscious  of  the  presence 
of  an  intruder.  The  occasion  was  too  sacred  to  admit  of 
social  union,  even  in  prayer,  and  the  door  was  closed  as  it 
had  been  opened,  with  a  petition  that  Jehovah  would  hear 
and  accept  her  sacrifice,  without  her  becoming  conscious 
of  the  inspection  of  a  human  eye. 

The  next  entry  in  the  diary  is  dated  Barnes,  a  mansion- 
house  in  the  parish  of  Cleish,  where  the  young  couple  re- 
sided for  some  time,  while  the  manse  was  preparing. 

'Barnes,  August  5 — On  the  llth  July,  I  was  united,  by 
Mr.  Grey,  to  my  beloved  Wallace,  and  a  new  period  in  my 
life  began.     How  soon  may  it  end !     Amid  the  busy  pre- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  163 

paratioRs,  the  gifts  of  kind  friends,  and  the  numerous  fare- 
wells, the  thing  itself  did  not  perhaps  hold  the  prominent 
place  that  belongs  to  it ;  and  it  was  well,  for,  from  what  I 
have  experienced  since,  I  think  my  feelings  would  have 
been  overpowering.  In  the  first  part  of  the  ceremony,  the 
effort  not  to  weep  made  me  shake  like  a  leaf,  and  dear 

aunt  I held  me  up,  but  before  the  close  I  was  calm — it 

was  short  but  soothing  and  pious,  and  the  firm  emphatic 
tone,  yet  full  of  feeling,  in  which  my  W.  said  the  words 
"  I  do,"  encouraged  me  greatly,  I  did  not  think  so  much 
expression  could  be  put  into  two  simple  words  !  My  friends 
looked  bright  and  kind,  and  there  was  a  lovely  train  of 
cousins  and  sisters — how  soon  some  of  them  will  be  settled 
far,  far  from  me  and  my  little  nook.  *  *  21 — Returned 
to  Ruthwell — Friday  was  Fast-day,  my  dear  W.  and  I 
joined  in  prayer  several  times  in  its  course.  After  the  last 
time  in  the  evening,  I  felt  a  bright  glow  of  happiness,  joy 
in  being  united  to  one  who  would  serve  God  with  me,  and 
in  being  permitted  to  tell  my  thoughts  and  seek  grace  and 
strength  from  that  great  Being  together.  It  was  one  of 
those  hours  that  are  as  green  islands  in  the  waste  of  ocean 
often  and  brightly  remembered.  *  *  We  came  home  to 
Barnes  on  Saturday,  30th  July,  1836,  and  had  nearly  a 
week  of  wet  weather.  For  some  days,  however,  it  has 
been  fine,  the  sunbeams  throw  the  shadows  of  the  trees  on 
the  grass,  roses  and  willow  herbs  bloom  around  me,  deep 
woods  shelter  our  spacious  dwelling,  and  every  thing  tells 
of  happiness  and  hope,  the  gracious  gifts  of  God.  I  have 
felt  the  separation  from  a  mother  so  revered,  and  all  the 
loved  home  circle,  more  since  coming  here,  than  on  the 
11th,  or  even  before,  I  think.  But  my  husband  smiles  so 
tenderly  and  beamingly  on  me,  that  I  feel  I  could  give  up 
still  more  for  him.  Oh  !  let  me  try  to  make  him  happy,  and 
never  let  the  tender  flower  of  love  be  nipped  by  hasty 
words  ;  let  me  try  to  make  his  home  comfortable,  and  study 
his  tastes,  even  in  small  things.  Our  income  amply  sup- 
plies our  present  wants  ;  and  when  the  thought  of  the  fu- 
ture comes  over  me,  I  turn  it  into  a  prayer  for  increase  of 
faith,  for  what  have  the  future  and  I  to  do  with  each  other? 
I  mean  not  only  to  give  orders,  but  sometimes  to  superin- 
tend their  execution ;    and  I  hope  it  may  be  proved,  in  our 


164  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

experience,  that  godliness  with  contentment  is  great  gain. 
How  ninnerous  are  our  blessings.  W.'s  people  love  him  ; 
the  surrounding  families  here  have  received  me  kindly  ;  we 
have  lovely  scenery  around,  and  are  engaged  in  the  most 
honourable  work  that  can  employ  mortal  man.  Shall  we 
not  raise  here  our  Ebenezer,  and  bless  the  Lord  who  hath 
done  so  great  things  for  us  V 

Such  was  the  strain  of  gratitude  which  flowed  in  unison 
with  the  fulfilment  of  that  plan  which  had  so  long  appeared 
in  the  distance,  and  the  accomplishment  of  which  formed 
one  of  the  stages  in  life's  brief  journey.  But  on  this  journey, 
where  is  perfect  happiness  ?  *  The  depth  says  of  it,  as  of 
wisdom,  it  is  not  in  me.  The  sea  saith,  not  with  me.  It 
cannot  be  gotten  for  gold,  neither  shall  silver  be  weighed 
for  the  price  thereof.  In  acquaintance  with  God,  there  is 
peace  ;  in  the  knowledge  of  Christ  Jesus,  there  is  hope. 
But  present  happiness,  that  joy  which  hath  no  unfulfilled 
desire,  is  not  an  earthly  joy.  God  understandeth  the  way 
thereof.  He  knoweth  the  place  thereof.  It  is  in  heaven. 
Even  a  king's  daughter — a  bride  of  heaven,  finds  it  not 
easy  to  forget  her  own  people  and  her  father's  house  ;  and 
the  more  tender  and  grateful  the  heart,  the  keener  the 
longings  after  those  who  have  been  loved  and  left  behind. 
Sir  W.  Jones'  translation  of  the  adieus  of  an  eastern  lady, 
though  applying  not  to  kindred  but  to  accustomed  objects, 
in  part  exhibits  the  sentiment. 

*  Wept  o'er  each  flower,  her  garden's  blameless  pride, 
Kissed  the  young  fawn  that  sorrowed  by  her  side  ; 
Still  to  relieve  her  bosom's  bursting  swell. 
To  flower  and  fawn  prolonged  the  sad  farewell.' 

Thus,  am^d  the  accomplishment  of  her  wishes,  wrote  the 
young  wife  :-^— '  O,  it  is  sad,  this  severing  of  early  ties  !  and 
many  a  pang  it  costs  me.  I  am  very  happy  with  him  for 
whom  I  gave  them  up,  but  still  I  am  in  a  land  of  strangers. 
Yet  the  mercy  of  the  past  makes  me  hope  for  the  future, 
that  the  kind  hand  of  Providence  will  be  over  me  still,  to 
bless,  and  teach,  and  succour  me.' 

To  her  London  School-fellow. 
'  Barnes  House,  September  14,  1836. — I  always  loved 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  165 

3'0ii,  as  T  used  to  fancy,  much  more  than  you  loved  poor  me. 
But  every  letter  you  write  makes  me  long  more  for  a  re- 
newal of  that  intercourse  which  was  delightful,  but  too  brief. 
Now,  we  could  hold  sweet  counsel  of  Him,  whom  we  have 
both  found  to  be  the  best  of  friends,  and  whom  we  both 
desire  to  honour  with  the  best  of  our  time  and  of  our  affec- 
tions. Ah  !  what  an  added  charm  there  would  have  been 
in  our  friendship,  could  we  have  done  so  then.  My  heart 
is  full  of  thankfulness  for  you,  dear  friend,  and  I  earnestly 
hope  that  you,  who  began  later,  have  far  outstripped  me  in 
the  Christian  race,  for  I  have  to  deplore  many  wanderings 
of  heart  from  God,  and  much  coldness  and  ingratitude. 
Would  that  I  could  love  him  as  the  angels  do,  and  find,  at 
all  times,  my  life,  my  solace,  in  converse  with  him.  But 
were  I  to  permit  my  harp,  which  is  hanging  on  the  willows, 
to  emit  the  sounds  most  congenial  at  this  moment,  you 
would  have  to  listen  to  a  sad  and  plaintive  lay  ;  so  I  must 
be  less  selfish,  and  try  to  strike  up  a  more  cheerful  strain, 
only  entreating  you  first  to  pray  often  for  me.  Dearest ! 
may  I  think  that  every  Friday  night  you  pray  specially  for 
me  ?  This  is  what  I  mean  to  do  for  you,  and  I  think  we 
should  both  derive  much  comfort  from  it.  Let  me  thank  you 
warmly  for  your  kindness  in  sending  Ion — charming  Ion  ! 
How  I  admire  his  noble  character.  I  feel  almost  as  strong 
a  wish  to  know  Talfourd  as  Meta  did  to  know  Klopstock, 
after  reading  the  Messiah  ?  W.  could  tell  you  that  he 
thought  I  had  almost  lost  my  senses  while  he  read  it  to  me — 
it  produced  so  strong  an  effect.  Yet  it  was  not  the  beauty 
of  the  poem  alone,  but  my  own  state  of  mind,  that  made 
me  so  alive  to  its  strong  touches  of  feeling  ;  for  I  had  just 
bid  adieu  to  my  mother  and  my  pleasant  home,  and  was 
feeling  the  loneliness  of  my  new  position  more  than,  I  hope, 
I  shall  ever  feel  it  again.  The  weather  was  dismal,  and 
W.  was  much  engaged  in  study  ;  and  when  I  roamed  about 
in  this  great  unsocial-looking  house,  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been 
dropped  down  in  the  midst  of  a  wilderness.'     *     *     * 

'  Now  that  we  are  settled  in  our  retired  and  peaceful 
home,  striving,  in  some  degree,  to  fulfil  the  very  important 
duties  to  which  God  has  called  us,  W.  is  very  desirous  to 
adopt  every  plan  for  the  improvement  of  his  people,  and  has 
opened  Sabbath  schools,  and  classes  for  grown-up  young 


166  MEMOIR     OF 

persons, — encroachments  on  Satan's  reion,  unknown  here 
formerly.  Do  pray  for  a  blessing  on  this  little  flock.  I 
feel  Howe's  remark  to  be  true,  that  our  words  may  come 
forth  as  idle  breath,  dispersed  before  they  reach  the  hearts 
to  which  they  are  addressed.  But  let  us  seek  the  presence 
of  the  quickening  Spirit,  who  can  call  the  dead  to  life,  and 
then  the  work  must  prosper.  Write  soon,  love,  to  one  who 
always  prizes  your  letters,  and  surely  Mall  not  do,  so  the 
less,  because  she  is  now  removed  from  all  she  loves  except 
one,  and  has  a  life  of  more  solitude  in  prospect  than  she 
ever  had  before.' 

Occupation  for  the  benefit  of  the  strangers  who  were  to 
be  in  future  her  neighbours,  was  the  best  emolient  for  the 
wounds  inflicted  by  being  unrooted  from  the  family  of  her 
youthful  and  constant  associates,  and  the  objects  of  so  much 
sisterly  regard  ;  and  before  she  had  been  many  days  in  her 
new  station,  she  writes,  '  I  hope  to  begin  a  class  of  young 
women  next  Sunday  morning.     Do  pray  for  us.' 

In  the  Diary,  October  1,  the  aspirations  after  more  spi- 
rituality and  usefulness  are  as  ardent  as  ever.  A  small 
portion  of  them  is  extracted. 

'  Well,  I  have  always  disappointed  myself!  I  thought 
before,  that  when  we  were  united,  I  should  be  able  to  help 
W.  more  than  I  have  done  ;  and  what  has  become  of  this 
hope  ?  But  it  is  not  too  late  yet.  I  trust  God  will  enable 
me  to  live  much  closer  to  him,  and  theii  1  may  reasonably 
hope  to  be  useful  to  my  dear  partner ;  for  in  converse  with 
God  is  my  strength.  Help  me,  O  Lord  !  for  if  thou  do  not 
always  speak  to  me  by  thy  teaching  spirit,  I  must  fall ; 
and  oh  !  let  me  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  that  sacred  instructor.' 

'  October  9. — Not  at  church,  because  I  have  had  a  severe 
bilious  attack  the  last  two  days  ;  I  am  much  better  to-day 
and  enjoy  the  respite.  1  have  had  my  class, — fourteen, 
present.  It  was,  on  this  occasion,  strictly  preparatory  to 
the  Lord's  Supper.  We  read  Matt,  xxvi.,  and  my  heart 
was  enlarged  in  speaking  of  the  necessity  for  self-examina- 
tion, and  of  the  blessedness  of  saints  in  taking  leave  of  or- 
dinances for  ever,  and  being  in  the  very  presence  of  God. 
Mentioned  Matthew  Henry's  illustration,  "  When  the  sun 
shines,  farewell  candle."  Some  looked  anxious  and  seri- 
ous.    Oh  !  I  hope  the  Lord  has  his  own  among  them  ! 


M  A  R  Y    L  U  N  D  I  E     D  tJ  xN  C  A  N .  IQlf 

Of  M S I  have  good  hope.     But  if  more  be  not 

true  Christians,  how  grievous  !     They  all  seek  admittance 
to  the  feast.' 

To  a  newly-acquired  cousin  she  wrote,  '  I  must  find  time 
to  thank  you  for  your  very  kind  and  welcome  lines.  There 
are  few  people  on  whom  affection  is  better  spent  than  on 
me,  for  it  comes  "  sweet  as  the  south  wind  breathing  o'er 
a  bank  of  violets,"  and  does  not,  like  that  sweet  odour,  ex- 
hale as  soon  as  diffused  around  me.  I  am  glad  that  my 
visit  to  Ruthwell  has  made  me  acquainted  with  you,  and  I 
am  sure  we  shall  not  forget  each  other,  for  we  are  neither 
of  us  very  cold,  and  Christian  love  would  live,  even  sup- 
posing our  regard  on  other  grounds  might  dwindle.  My 
husband  is  hard  at  work  in  his  parish,  and  I  am  very  de- 
sirous to  assist  him  in  the  spread  of  gospel  truth.  Pray 
that  we  may  both  find  grace  according  to  our  day.' 

To  her  correspondent,  near  London. 

•  Septemher,  1836. — Sweet  fellowship  with  God  !  would 
I  knew  more  of  it,  and  drank  deeper  of  the  waters  o'f  life, 
which  take  away  all  other  thirst,  and  make  the  things  of 
this  life  seem  as  nothing  !  Ah,  my  friend  !  let  us  try  thus 
to  look  upon  all  the  little  crosses  of  life  ;  they  will  last  but 
through  the  winter.  Spring — everlasting  spring,  will  soon 
come,  and  then  how  peacefully  shall  we  repose  under  the 
shade  of  the  Sun  of  life,  and  remember  sorrow  but  as  a  de- 
parted friend,  sent  to  quicken  our  footsteps  to  our  blessed 
resting-place.  Dearest  F.,  how  we  should  love  that  Sa- 
viour, who  has  given  us  such  immortal  and  unfailing  hopes 
to  nerve  the  spirit  to  the  conflict,  and  urge  it  to  go  on  a  little 
longer,  assured  of  quick  and  sure  relief !  Let  us  love  Him 
more.  Whom  have  we  in  heaven  or  on  earth  like  the 
"  Friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother  ?"  In  what  is 
there  so  great  delight  as  in  keeping  His  commandments  ? 
Onward,  dear  sister  in  Christ!  Each  day  brings  us  nearer. 
Oh  !  may  each  day  quicken  our  progress  to  it !  Then  will 
be  no  more  discouragement,  or  weakness,  or  mourning  for 
sin ;  but  an  overflowing  of  joy  and  love,  in  the  immediate 
presence  of  Him,  whom,  now  unseen,  we  love  ;  and  who  can 
tell  how  soon  this  blessed  consummation  may  be  ours  ?  We 
must  not  slumber  at  our  posts  ;  for  behold,  *'  the  Bride- 


168  MEMOIR     OV 

groom  cometli."  Alas !  you  do  not  know  what  a  poor, 
feeble,  faltering  creature  is  thus  writing  of  the  hopes  re- 
vealed in  the  Gospel ;  yet  I  may  so  write,  for  even  to  me 
these  hopes  have  been  revealed  ;  and  though  often  ready 
to  halt  and  to  stumble,  they  are — Oh,  that  they  were  more 
constantly  and  joyfully  ! — my  song  in  the  house  of  my  pil- 
grimage. Blessed  Saviour,  who  does  not  weary  of  loving 
and  leading  me  !  Blessed  Gospel,  which  is  full  and  free 
enough  for  the  vilest ! 

'  Do  you  not  find,  as  I  do,  that  it  is  much  easier,  and 
more  congenial  to  the  busy  heart,  to  work  than  to  tcait  ? 
Both  must  be  learned,  and  I  have  lately  felt  a  strong  need 
of  the  latter  lesson.  I  am  too  impatient,  longing  too  much 
to  see  some  fruit — the  conversion  of  o?ie  soul,  the  melting 
of  one  hard  heart.  In  short,  I  fear  I  am  like  those  of  old, 
who  asked  for  a  sign.  It  would  be  indeed  a  joy  and  de- 
light, beyond  what  words  can  utter,  to  be  the  instrument, 
in  the  hand  of  God,  for  the  rescue  of  one  poor  wanderer. 
But  he  has  many  to  work  for  him,  and  many  ways  of  work- 
ing, and  his  kingdom  will  surely  extend,  whether  it  be  in 
the  way  that  pleases  us  best  or  not ;  so  I  must  seek  to  be 
patient,  and  if  I  walk  in  darkness,  and  have  no  light,  to  trust 
still.  Even  did  the  blessing  of  God  descend  on  me  so 
richly  as  to  give  "  souls  for  my  hire,"  his  wisdom  might 
see  it  good  to  hide  it  from  me,  and  never  let  me  know  it 
till  I  am  where  I  shall  sin  no  more  ;  yet  when  I  read  and 
hear  how  eminently  his  grace  has  been  made  manifest  in 
other  places,  I  cannot  but  cry,  "  Hast  thou  not  a  blessing 
for  me  also,  O  my  Father  ?" 

Shortly  after  this  she  writes  : — 

*  We  have  had  some  evenings'  work  in  preparing  the 
library  books,  which  were  circulated  yesterday,  to  the  de- 
light of  the  children.  I  took  a  class  in  the  Sunday  school, 
and  if  I  am  as  well  as  at  present,  shall  rejoice  to  do  so  re- 
gularly. Oh,  I  am  thankful  for  this  good  health.  I  have 
never  felt  more  alive  to  the  necessity  of  being  diligent  in 
the  duties  of  every  day,  since  I  was  married,  than  I  do  now. 

Yesterday,  M S *  told  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes, 

that  she  should  come  to  me  no  more,  as  she  is  going  to 

*  A  young  woman  of  the  class. 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  169 

place  ; — she  must  go  too,  before  the  communion  ; — so  here 
I  am  deprived  of  the  girl  I  had  most  comfort  in  ;  but  I 
think  she  has  that  in  her  which  will  keep  her  wherever 
she  is.' 

Again  she  writes,  after  their  first  communion  service  : — 

*  We  want  Christian  friends  sadly  here ;  but  if  the  Holy 
Spirit  gives  us  more  of  himself,  even  this  want  shall  be  a 
blessing.  We  have  had  a  sweet  season  of  communion, 
and  surely  a  blessing  from  on  high.  Pleasant  it  has  been 
to  me  to  sit  in  the  sanctuary,  while  my  dear  husband's  voice 
warned  sinners  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come,  and  told  ten- 
derly of  a  Saviour's  dying  love.  I  believe  many  felt  it  a 
blessed  day ;  and  should  it  not  be  always  thus  ?  for  how 
large  the  promises  of  the  Institutor  of  the  feast,  to  be  pre- 
sent with  his  people  at  this  his  own  sacred  table  ! 

Of  this  service,  her  own  personal  enjoyment  of  it,  her 
hopes  for  the  young  people,  her  domestic  arrangements, 
&c.,  a  farther  view  may  be  taken  by  the  following  extract. 
To  the  children  of  the  Manse,  the  arrangement  is  familiar ; 
— to  others  it  will  be  new  : — 

*  We  have  had  a  sweet  season  of  communion,  "  pleasant 
within  and  without,"  as  one  of  the  elders  said  to  me.  The 
day  was  fine,  the  church  crowded,  and  dear  W.,  I  think, 
received  aid  from  his  heavenly  Father.  He  dwelt  much 
on  the  love  of  Christ  constraining  us  to  live  to  his  glory, 
and  fenced  the  tables  solemnly,  comforting  the  penitent, 
and  warning  away  the  hardened.     I  sat  between  him  and 

Miss  S ,  at  the  second  table, — the  very  company  that  I 

should  have  chosen.  Our  servant  was  a  communicant,  and 
by  having  almost  everything  done  before  going  to  church, 
I  have  not  been  obliged  to  keep  her  at  home  from  any  of 
the  services.  The  elders  dined  here  on  their  way  home, 
and  we  had  early  family  worship  before  they  left  us.  W^e 
prepared  cold  dinner  on  Friday  and  Saturday,  and  there 
was  no  bustle.  My  heart  fills  when  I  think  of  the  young 
people.  There  were  about  thirty  who  stood  up  in  solemn 
self-dedication,  as  they  do  at  Ruthwell,  on  Saturday.  They 
filled  the  long  pews  fronting  the  pulpit.  Oh,  it  would  be 
cheering  could  one  believe  them  all  animated  by  one  heart 
and  one  soul.  Pray  that  the  service  may  be  a  pillar  of 
remembrance  to  us  all,  for  the  Lord  hath  done  great  things 

15 


170  MEMOIR     OF 

for  us,  and  shall  we  not  praise  him  with  our  lives  as  well 
as  our  lips  7***1  feel  that  much  lies  on  me,  and  I 
must  work  while  it  is  day  ;  but  my  heart  is  very  deceitful. 
Impressions  fade  easily.  If  my  Lord  did  not  pour  in  oil, 
even  when  I  ask  him  not,  or  ask  him  feebly,  my  glimmering 
lamp  would  go  out.  But  I  feel  this  will  not  be  ;  for  He  is 
faithful.' 

Among  the  pleasing  employments  of  this  winter,  was 
her  preparation  of  various  papers  for  Dr.  Duncan's  work 
entitled  '  Sacred  Philosophy  of  the  Seasons,'  which  he 
delighted  to  make  a  family  concern,  by  receiving  a  few 
contributions.  His  contributors,  however,  had  the  advan- 
tage of  selecting  their  subjects  from  his  hst,  while  he  wrote 
on  all  those  which  failed  to  attract  his  circle.,  Mary's  pa- 
pers were  simple,  discriminating,  and  adorned  with  the  ele- 
gance which  her  mind  imparted  to  every  subject.  '  The 
Rose,'  '  the  Bat,'  *  the  Mouse,'  '  Sabbath  Morning,'  and  an 
'  Autumnal  Sabbath  Evening,'  are  marked  with  her  initial 
sign,  M.  L.  D.  In  a  letter  early  in  the  year  1837,  she  in- 
quires : — 

*Has  uncle  Henry  seen  the  Journal  of  a  Naturalist, 
which  I  am  reading?  It  would  be  after  his  own  heart. 
The  description  of  the  snow-drop  there,  suggested  to  me  a 
few  verses,  which  I  thought  of  sending,  to  see  if  they  are 
fit  to  appear  in  better  company  in  his  Spring  volume  ;  but 
I  believe  they  will  be  too  late  for  it.' 


*T0    THE    SNOW-DROP. 

'  Hail !  rocked  by  winter's  icy  gale, 

And  cradled  in  thy  nest  of  snow, 
Thou  com'^t  to  hear  sad  nature's  wail, 

When  all,  save  thee,  lies  waste  and  low. 
From  joy's  gay  train,  no  garish  hue. 

Fair  hermit,  stains  thy  pearly  form  ; 
But,  to  thy  parents'  sorrow  true. 
Thou  meekly  bow'st  thy  head  before  the  sweeping  storm. 

Rising  amid  our  garden  bowers. 

That  yield  to  thee  no  sheltering  screen, 

Thou  bid'st  us  hope  for  brighter  hours, 

When  spring  shall  weave  her  wreath  of  green. 


i 


MARY     LUND  IE     DUNCAN.  171 

Nor  there  alone,*  in  some  long  glade, 

Deserted  now  by  all  but  thee, 
Thou  mark'st  the  spot  where  breezes  strayed, 
'Mong  summer's  richest  bloom,  that  lured  the  wandering  bee. 

Though  one  and  all,  the  smiling  train, 

On  the  forsaken  bank  have  died. 
The  dews  of  eve  have  fallen  in  vain  ; 

And  morn  has  called,  but  none  replied  ; — 
Yet  lingering  there  in  pensive  grace. 

Thou  mourn'st  alone  the  wreck  of  time  ; 
The  cottar's  ruined  dwelling-place, 
The  evening  hearth  of  old,  the  happy  voices' chime. 

And  shall  we  call  this  earth  our  own, 

Since  longer  lives  thy  feeble  frame, 
To  deck  the  path  when  we  are  gone, 

And  none  is  left  to  tell  our  name  1 
No  !  speed  we  to  the  holy  shore, 

"Where  souls  made  pure  shall  find  their  rest, 
"When  earth  and  all  her  dreams  are  o'er. 
And  all  the  gathered  flock  are  with  their  shepherd  blest !' 

M.  L.  D. 

*  '  The  damask  rose,  the  daffodil,  or  the  stock  of  an  old  bullace  plum, 
will  long  remain,  and  point  out  where  once  a  cottage  existed;  but  all 
these,  and  most  other  tokens,  in  time  waste  away  ;  while  the  snow-drop 
will  remain,  increase,  and  become  the  only  memorial  of  man  and  his  la- 
bours.'— Journal  of  a  Naturalist. 


172  MEMOIR    OF 


CHAPTER  XL 

PAROCHIAL    SOLICITUDES MATERNAL    EMOTIONS. 

Two  brothers  and  a  cousin  passed  their  week  of  respite 
from  study  at  the  close  of  the  year,  with  her ;  and  it  is  a 
subject  of  grateful  remembrance,  that  from  this  visit,  and 
these  efforts  for  his  spiritual  weal,  one  dear  youth  dates  his 
first  awakening  to  the  value  and  peril  of ^  his  soul ;  and  if 
shortly  he  shall  have  the  honour  to  deliver  the  message  of 
reconciliation  to  others,  her  spirit  in  heaven  may  be  a  par- 
taker of  the  joy  occasioned  by  the  return  of  those  sinners 
whom  he  shall  invite.     George,  then  at  Glasgow  College, 
wrote  to  his  mother :— '  I  enjoyed  a  pleasant  Sabbath,  and 
Mary  took  R.  and  me,  after  church,  to  pass  some  time 
alone,  when  we  all  three  prayed.     It  reminded  me  forcibly 
of  the  time  when  we  used  to  meet  with  you  for  a  similar 
purpose.'     To  him  she  wrote,  after  he  had  returned  to  his 
studies  : — '  Kinross,  Feb.   7,  1337.     I  have  stolen  away 
from  a  friend's  drawing  room,  to  pen  such  a  note  as  I  have 
time  for.     I  am  sorry  you  have  had  influenza,  and  hope 
you  are  strong  again.     Such  slight  discipline  should  make 
us  look  well  to  our  ways,  and  see  why  our  kind  Lord  smites 
us  ;  lest,  by  refusing  the  intended  lesson,  we  draw  on  us 
sorer  punishment.     I  hope  that,  whether  confined  in  soli- 
tude,  or  in  the  midst  of  the  hvely  interest  of  your  classes, 
you  keep  near  Him,  and  seek  Him  as  the  companion  of 
all  your  ways.     I  was  struck  lately  by  reading  the  answer 
of  a  good  man  to  those  appointed  to  try  if  he  was  fit  for  the 
ministry.     They  asked  if  he  had  felt  a  work  of  grace  in  his 
heart.     He  replied,  "  I  call  the  Searcher  of  hearts  to  wit- 
ness that  I  make  conscience  of  my  very  thoughts."     What 
a  proof  of  sincerity  !     What  a  sure  way  to  have  the  light 
of  God's  presence  shining  on  his  path  !     Often  we  chase 
away  the  Spirit,  by  indulging  vain  and  profitless  thoughts  ; 
and  being  thrown  off  our  watch,  we  lose,  through  their  wily 
insinuations,  our  peace  and  joy  in  believing;  and  our  hearts 


MARY  LUNDIE  DUNCAN.  173 

grow  cold,  and  our  graces  languish.  These  vain  thoughts 
produce  vain  words ;  and  we  do  a  great  amountof  mischief  to 
those  we  ought  to  help  onward  to  our  heavenly  home.  Oh, 
my  dear  brother,  let  us  together  try  to  guard  those  traitor 
thoughts,  and  keep  all  the  secret  recesses  of  our  spirits  open, 
for  the  pure,  life-giving  beams  of  the  Sun  of  glory.  Then 
we  shall  fulfil  the  great  end  of  our  being,  by  growing  into 
the  image  of  God,  and  we  shall  benefit  our  dear  ones,  and 
all  with  whom  we  shall  come  in  contact ;  for  do  you  re- 
member those  words,  so  full  of  precept  for  us,  "  the  tongue 
of  the  righteous  is  a  fountain  of  life,"  and  again,  ''  the  lips 
of  the  righteous  feed  many."  The  best  guard  against  vain 
thoughts  is  a  heart  much  at  the  feet  of  Jesus,  constantly 
drawing  near  to  the  mercy-seat,  and  exercising  itself  in 
loving,  fervent  prayer  ;  for  how  can  vanity  find  a  place  in 
the  consecrated  temple  of  the  living  God  ?  I  did  not  mean 
to  write  all  this  ;  I  know  not  how  I  have  been  led  to  it  ; 
but  tell  me  soon  your  state  of  mind,  and  then  I  shall  know 
better  what  to  say.' 

To  her  excellent  friend,  near  London,  who  was  confined 
by  bodily  infirmity,  to  a  limited  circle  of  occupations,  she 
wrote,  unfolding  some  of  her  fears  as  to  her  performance 
of  duty : — 

'Jan.,  1837.—*  *  *  The  sense  of  the  ten- 
derness of  that  best  Friend,  and  his  watchful  love  in  the 
hour  of  sorrow,  can  not  only  make  that  sorrow  tolerable, 
but  invest  it  with  a  peace  and  comfort  unfelt  at  other  times. 
And  such,  dearest,  has  been  your  frequent  experience,  I 
trust ;  for,  shut  out  as  you  have  been  from  active  life,  you 
have  dwelt  in  the  secret  of  his  presence,  and  watched  for 
the  tokens  of  his  love,  and  welcomed  every  cheering  pro- 
mise as  a  message  from  your  Father.  This  lengthened 
period  of  delicacy  grieves  me  for  you,  and  yet  were  it  not 
best,  the  burden  would  be  removed.  I  can  only  pray  that 
it  may  be  borne  for  you  by  Him  who  did  not  refuse  to  bear 
the  cross  for  you  and  for  me,  and  that  you  may  be  brought  to 
complete  submission,  and  blessed  with  a  heart-reviving 
view  of  another  and  a  holier  state  of  existence.  My  friend, 
when  you  are  admitted  to  that  lovely  home  for  which  you 
wait,  will  it  not  be  joy  to  you,  that  so  many  days  on  earth 
were  spent  in  the  sombre  shade  of  trial,  if  so  you  have  been 
15* 


174  MEMOIR     OF 

brouglit  at  all  nearer  to  Jesus.  Even  now  you  can  feel  it 
so.  How  much  more  when  the  time  of  probation  is  end- 
ed. But  these  cheering  hopes  are  not  always  admitted. 
If  they  were,  sorrow  would  be  all  joy.  The  downcast 
heart  mourns  the  multitude  of  its  sins,  and  feels  as  if  such 
comfort  were  not  for  it.  How  sweetly,  at  such  times, 
sounds  the  Saviour's  voice,  "  Be  of  good  cheer,  I  have 
overcome."  Then  comes  a  feeling  of  shame  and  contri- 
tion that  we  have  doubted,  where  there  is  so  much  abound- 
ing love,  such  willingness  to  present  for  us  every  feeble 
cry  before  the  mercy-seat,  and  we  return  unto  our  rest — 
that  quiet  and  beloved  haven,  where  we  have  so  long  been 
anchored  ;  and  looking  out  upon  the  storm  and  cloud  which 
gathered  when  we  left  it,  we  cling  more  firmly  to  the  Sa- 
viour, who,  in  giving  us  himself,  has  freely  given  us  all 
things.  So  wayward  is  my  heart,  that  in  the  midst  of 
many  mercies  that  enter  into  my  lot,  I  sometimes  look  at 
your  retirement  with  a  sigh.  My  burden  is  different  from 
yours  ;  but  the  same  unfailing  One  will  strengthen  me  for 
it.  My  position  is  much  less  sheltered  than  ever  it  was 
before.  You  will  see  how  weak  I  am,  when  I  tell  you, 
that  I  often  shrink  back,  and  wish  I  were  not  the  person  to 
act  and  make  decisions,  but  that  I  had  a  mother  with  me 
still,  behind  whose  shadow  to  retire  as  I  was  wont  to  do. 
I  make  no  allusion  to  situations  in  which  my  husband  is 
called  to  act ;  there,  though  even  to  advise  is  a  great  re- 
sponsibility, it  is  not  the  chief.  But  there  are  many  which 
peculiarly  belong  to  myself,  and  I  daily  feel  the  want  of 
wisdom  to  lead  me  on.  I  now  feel  those  words,  "  Ye  are 
as  a  city  set  on  a  hill."  The  character  and  advancement 
of  the  simple  and  teachable  people  here,  depends,  under 
God,  very  much  on  my  husband,  and,  therefore,  a  good  deal 
on  me.  I  always  liked  to  work  for  Him  who  has  loved 
me,  but  now  there  is  a  different  feeling ;  something  like 
this  : — "  If  I  do  not  work,  or  if  I  work  wrong,  the  cause  of 
God  may  be  injured."  I  fill  a  place  that  some  wise  and 
holy  child  of  God  might  have  filled,  and  many  look  to  me 
for  instruction,  example,  and  counsel — to  me !  who  have 
despised  so  many  mercies,  and  grieved  my  Master  so  many 
times.  Does  this,  dear  F.,  let  you  into  my  mind?  Before, 
I  laboured  in  co-operation  with  others,  and  moved  on  their 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  175 

plans.  Now,  W.  and  I  labour  in  some  things  alone ;  in 
others,  with  those  who  look  to  us  to  devise  the  methods. 
Will  you  lecture  me  for  my  creature  dependence,  and  tell 
me  of  the  fulness  of  my  Lord  ;  and  oh,  while  you  do  this 
faithfully,  pray  that  I  may  receive  of  that  fulness,  and 
that  strength  may  be  perfected  in  my  exceeding  weakness. 
Were  you  near,  I  could  make  you  understand  exactly  how 
it  is,  and  you  would  say  to  me,  as  I  often  do  to  myself, 
"  Martha,  Martha,"  &c.  The  root,  I  believe,  of  much  of 
my  anxiety  is,  that  I  have  lately  been  more  cold  in  closet 
duties  than  I  used  to  be.  At  times  I  feel  Jesus  near,  and 
the  Spirit  helping  me,  but  often  other  thoughts  intrude,  and 
the  gentle  calls  of  my  Lord  have  little  power  to  win  me  to 
a  patient  waiting  in  his  presence.  How  long  shall  it  be 
so  ?  Ah  !  my  own  kind  friend,  now  when  you  are  much 
shut  up  to  prayer,  remember  me,  a  poor  and  helpless,  and 
far  worse,  a  vile  and  ungrateful  rebel,  encompassed  with 
blessings,  and  cold  towards  the  Giver.  My  short  life  has 
been  fdled  with  tokens  of  his  faithfulness,  and  yet  I  am 
often  distrustful.  Oh,  my  holy  Saviour,  when  shall  I  be 
made  like  thee  !  I  hope  this  state  of  things  is  not  to  last, 
but  that  the  sweet  glimpses,  which  are  given  sometimes  of 
forgiving  love,  may  become  abiding  peace,  and  unwearied 
waiting  on  my  God.  I  have  had  great  delight  in  dear 
George's  late  visit.  His  heart  is  earnest  in  seeking, Jirstf 
the  kingdom  of  God,  and  glowing  with  desire  for  the  con- 
version of  the  heathen.  He  has  got  into  a  circle  of  pious 
young  men  at  Glasgow  college,  and  I  think  a  spirit  is  among 
them  whose  fruits  will  be  seen  when  they  come  out  as 
ministers  of  the  everlasting  gospel.' 

'  I  have  had  a  warm  interest  in  L ever  since  you 

told  me  of  her  mother's  removal.  Her  tender  heart  will 
be  torn  with  many  pangs  !  but  for  such  are  the  promises. 
I  felt  the  deep  treasure  that  is  contained  in  many  of  them, 
when  the  loss  of  a  most  tender  and  revered  parent,  made 
me  one  of  the  fatherless.  God  became  in  a  peculiar  man- 
ner my  Father  then,  and  so  he  will,  I  am  sure,  to  this  dear 
sufferer.  It  was  a  great  blessing  that  you  were  permitted 
to  point  the  dying  man  to  his  Saviour.  May  this  be  your 
privilege  and  mine  many  times.  It  fills  me  with  wonder 
that  God  condescends  to  employ  his  feeble  children  as  in- 


176  MEMOIR     OF 

struments  of  good  to  others :  but  he  has  told  us  why  the 
treasure  is  in  earthen  vessels.  I  shall  be  glad  to  resume 
with  you  the  communion  that  I  never  like  to  have  interrupt- 
ed. It  would  be  pleasant  to  learn  an  epistle — shall  it  be 
that  to  the  Colossians?  I  shall  begin  on  the  evening  of 
Friday,  and  learn  three  verses  regularly.  If  you  have  an- 
other plan,  tell  me,  and  I  shall  adopt  it.  I  mention  Friday, 
because  I  have  an  especial  love  for  that  evening,  when  a 
party  of  Christians,  though  far  distant,  meet  in  spirit  to  en- 
treat the  outpouring  of  the  Spirit  on  themselves,  the  church, 
and  the  world  at  large.  Do  join  us,  my  beloved  friend.  It 
is  refreshing  to  me,  and  it  seems  strange  to  belong  to  a 
community  like  this,  of  which  you  are  not  one.' 

Her  memory  was  naturally  powerful,  and  it  was  her  de- 
light to  exercise  it  by  treasuring  up  the  word  of  life.  While 
she  resided  in  Edinburgh,  when  her  age  emancipated  her 
from  appointed  tasks,  she  would,  on  a  Sabbath  evening, 
after  hearing  the  recitations  of  the  juniors,  request  some  of 
them  to  hear  her  in  turn  ;  on  these  occasions  she  would 
repeat  long  chapters,  or,  as  it  might  be,  a  whole  epistle. 
Her  husband  and  she,  together,  committed  to  memory  the 
epistle  to  the  Ephesians,  during  the  winter  they  passed  at 
Barnes.  Her  own  poetical  efforts  were  not  usually  made 
with  pen  in  hand,  but  remembered,  and  written  at  her  con- 
venience ;  and,  during  the  winter  of  1839,  when  confined 
to  bed,  it  was  a  common  morning  exercise,  that  her  sister 
should  read  her  a  hymn,  which,  on  the  second  hearing,  she 
could  recite  without  mistake. 

To  her  London  School -fellow. 
•  Barnes,  February  28. — We  have  lately  been  burning 
over  a  History  of  the  Covenanters,  whose  awful  sufferings 
from  Prelacy,  or  rather,  perhaps,  from  Popery  under  that 
name,  are  still  felt  keenly  by  every  patriot  heart.  Who  can 
conceive  the  consequences,  had  James  succeeded  in  de- 
stroying the  persecuted  Presbyterians,  and,  this  impediment 
removed,  had  ordered  his  time-serving  bishops  to  own  the 
holy  Pope  as  their  liege  lord.  You  and  I  to-day  might  have 
been  most  devoutly  bowing  to  the  Virgin,  or,  feeling  it  folly, 
might  in  heart  have  renounced  all  religion  as  mummery  and 
superstition.      I  wonder  if  you,  or,  indeed,  if  any  but  the 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  177 

descendants  of  these  noble  martyrs — those  who  have  seen 
their  wild  and  lonely  tombs,  and  heard  the  harrowing  tales 
of  their  sufferings,  and  breathed  the  same  free  air  that  played 
around  them,  as  they  confessed  their  constancy  in  the  sight 
of  heaven  and  earth, — can  be  fired  with  the  same  enthusi- 
asm, and  feel  the  same  mingled  pity  and  indignation  at 
those  who  thirsted  for  their  blood  ?  No  wonder  that  we, 
in  Scotland,  love  our  church,  which  was  sown  among  so 
many  tears  of  our  best  and  bravest.' 

During  the  course  of  this  spring,  her  diary  contains 
allusions  to  her  prospect  of  becoming  a  mother,  dictated  by 
the  same  submission,  self- diffidence,  and  confidence  in  her 
Saviour,  which  so  long  had  given  their  own  peculiar  colour 
to  all  her  views. 

Diary. — January  25. — '  A  few  more  months  and  (if 
spared  till  then),  a  critical  time  will  come,  and  why  should 
the  husbandman  let  a  barren  tree  remain  in  his  vineyard  ? 
The  future  is  in  his  hands  though  hid  from  me,  and  I  have 
not  many  anxious  thoughts  about  it.  The  day  shall  declare 
it,  and  it  will  be  in  mercy ^  whether  for  life  or  death.  Yes  ; 
I  a  useless  branch  can  say  so,  for  I  am  a  branch  of  the  life- 
giving  tree,  and  shall  not  be  left  to  fade.  But,  what  could 
He  do,  which  is  not  done  for  me,  and  where  is  the  return? 
The  retrospect  ashames  me.  How  different  should  I  be 
if  I  realised  the  prospect  of  shining  as  a  star  in  the  media- 
torial crown.  What  eagerness  for  good  would  there  be 
then  !  What  prayers  for  mercy  !  What  anxiety  to  "  feed 
many"  from  my  lips,  by  the  truths  the  Spirit  teaches.  O 
Lord,  undertake  for  me  !  My  spirit  has  less  of  solemnity 
about  it  than  it  used  to  have,  because  my  times  of  devotion 
are  not  in  perfect  solitude,  but  with  my  dear  husband  by, 
and  I  do  not  feel  so  much  alone  with  God.  *  *  I  like 
to  spend  a  few  minutes  in  prayer,  in  the  evening  or  at  some 
other  hour,  but  then  often  the  world  is  in  my  heart,  and  I 
have  little  to  ask.  I  wish  to  walk  nearer  to  Jesus,  and,  by 
my  converse,  to  set  heavenly  things  before  my  dear  hus- 
band, and  not  to  lure  his  heart  to  settle  on  earth  and  me. 
The  fear  of  God  does  regulate  this  little  family,  but  we  want 
more  life,  more  love.  Lord  hear  my  prayer  and  come  and 
save  us  !' 

*  Sabbath,  April  16. — All  are  on  their  way  to  Church, 


178  MEMOIR    OF 

and  I  may  not  go — I  may  not  join  in  prayer  with  God's 
people,  or  listen  to  my  dear  husband's  voice  exhorting  his 
flock  to  choose  the  narrow  way.  I  feared,  yet  did  not  like 
to  think,  last  Sunday,  that  it  might  be  long  before  I  mingled 
in  the  services  of  the  sanctuary.  I  must  bring  my  mind  to 
be  sometime  an  exile  from  the  courts  of  the  temple.  But 
"  the  universe  is  the  temple  of  my  God,"  and  perhaps  I 
may  get  nearer  to  him  alone,  than  if  I  could  act  as  my 
wishes  prompt.  He  is  merciful  in  giving  me  warning  of 
what  is  coming ;  and  my  disability  to  do  as  I  was  wont, 
reminds  me  that  soon  I  shall  be  in  pain  and  in  peril,  and 
that,  perhaps,  the  bed  of  pain  may  be  the  bed  of  death.  My 
anticipations  are  chiefly  of  recovery  and  of  hours  of  hap- 
piness with  my  most  tender  husband,  and  the  little  one 
whom  God  may  give  to  us.  But  I  would  be  prepared  for 
either  event ;  and  were  my  spirit  beaming,  as  it  ought  to 
be,  with  my  Saviour's  love,  for  what  could  I  long  so  ar- 
dently asfor  a  free  and  quick  admission  to  his  own  presence, 
and  to  "  Jerusalem  my  happy  home."  I  do  not  feel  afraid 
to  die,  but,  were  death  close  upon  me,  should  I  not  quail  ? 
I  will  never  let  go  my  only  hope,  my  precious  Redeemer, 
but  seek  to  follow  him  more  closely,  and  shun  sin  and  cold- 
ness. A  fearful  anticipation  of  the  future  at  times  shades 
my  spirit ;  of  pains  such  as  I  never  endured  ;  of  new  and 
anxious  responsibilities  ;  but  through  all  this,  grace  can 
and  will  support  even  me  ;  and  I  will  not  fear,  but  pray 
more  ;  as  cares  increase,  so  will  the  aid  of  the  Spirit  be 
given  me.  Be  present  in  thy  house  to-day,  in  the  power  of 
thy  Spirit,  and  subdue  souls  to  thy  dear  Son.' 

^ April  23. —  My  class  is  gone;  there  were  thirteen. 
When  shall  I  see  that  any  real  good  is  done  1  I  must  pray 
more  for  them.  I  have  been  exhorting  them  to  try,  like 
good  old  Berridge,  to  put  the  words  of  Scripture  into  the 
form  of  supplications,  and  use  them  as  they  walk  by  the 
way.  Oh,  for  the  teaching  of  the  Spirit  to  make  them  wise 
unto  salvation  !  I  painfully  feel  my  own  coldness  and  dead- 
ness,  and  would  fain  awake  to  newness  of  life.  My  God 
has  shut  me  up  alone  while  others  meet  in  his  beloved 
courts.  I  do  love  them  !  but  is  it  with  the  fervent  love  of 
earlier  days,  when  the  words  of  truth  were  as  manna  to  my 
soul  ?  I  often  look  back  nine  years,  to  the  time  when  I  was 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  179 

first  admitted  to  the  visible  church,  and  feel  tempted  to  say, 
'♦  then  it  was  better  with  me  than  now."  What  but  the 
blood  of  Jesus  can  ransom  me  ?  I  might  have  been  far  ad- 
vanced in  the  Christian  race  ere  now,  instead  of  being  the 
weak  and  erring  child  I  am.  When  I  come  to  die,  I  shall 
not  be  able  to  say,  like  Paul,  "1  have  fought  the  good 
fight,"  but  through  grace  I  will  cling  to  my  Saviour.  Oh ! 
that  my  dear  husband  and  I  lived  daily  nearer  to  him. 
May  a  blessing  be  on  his  preaching  to-day.  In  three  days 
I  shall  have  lived  twenty-three  years.  In  the  last,  how 
many  mercies  has  God  given  me,  with  some  slight  chas- 
tisements that  came  threefold  increased,  because  I  did  not 
cast  ail  my  care  upon  him,  but  kept  some  of  it  to  carry  my- 
self. I  have  the  prospect  of  introducing  a  new  inhabitant 
into  a  world  of  sin,  and,  I  trust,  an  heir  of  glory  to  the  dawn 
of  an  immortal  existence.  Oh  may  my  babe  be  one  of 
Jesus'  lambs  !  I  scarcely  dare  form  wishes  for  the  future, 
but,  at  present,  my  mind  needs  cleansing.  I  do  not  feel 
the  glow  of  Christian  love  to  all  ;  my  affections  are  too 
much  confined  to  a  few  objects.  I  am  easily  made  impa- 
tient, and  this  was  not  the  case  formerly.  I  want  the  cha- 
rity that  thinketh  no  evil.  My  thoughts  are  too  much  on 
self.  Alas!  when  shall  I  be  like  Jesus?  In  heaven?— 
Yes  ;  but  the  likeness  must  begin  on  earth.  Oh  that  the 
breath  of  prayer  may  be  fervent  and  unwearied  !' 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  here,  that  the  deadness  and  im- 
patience of  which  she  complains,  were  probably  the  result 
of  physical  causes.  The  child  of  God  is  often  bowed 
down,  and  when  he  would  «  go  forth  as  al  other  times,'  and 
serve  the  Lord,  he  finds  that  his  power  is  gone.  Perhaps 
he  is  disposed  to  lay  heavily  to  his  charge  that  which  is 
caused  by  his  infirmity,  and  feels  as  if,  like  Samson,  he  has 
been  enveigled  into  the  shearing  of  his  locks,  by  some  tem- 
poral snare.  But  tlie  blessed  High  Priest,  who  is  touched 
with  the  feeling  of  his  people's  infirmities,  knoweth,  and, 
when  they  attain  their  glorified  bodies,  they  shall  know  and 
discriminate  between  the  backsliding  spirit,  and  the  taber- 
nacle of  clay.  This  is  one  of  the  innumerable  reasons 
why  it  will  be  better  to  serve  God  in  heaven  than  on  earth, 
that  the  aspirings  of  spirit  will  be  no  longer  in  bondage  to 
the  drooping  frame.     The  soul's  ethereal  communing  will 


180  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

no  longer  be  restrained  and  drawn  down  by  the  earthen  ves- 
sel in  which  it  is  enshrined. 

To  Tier  friend  near  London. 

<  Barnes,  April  27. — There  was  much  in  your  last  letter 
that  comforted  and  strengthened  me.  Oh !  I  feel  grateful 
to  you  when  you  advise  me  ;  for  you  understand  and  en- 
ter into  my  feelings,  and  bring  to  my  remembrance  the 
sweet  and  reviving  words  of  eternal  truth,  which  always 
bring  health  and  healing  to  my  spirit.  Do  not  refuse,  my 
dear  one,  to  give  me  counsel,  for  it  does  help  me,  and  I  re- 
quire all  the  help  I  can  obtain.  I  love  to  linger  on  the 
thought  that  I  have  a  place  in  your  heart,  and  in  your  pray- 
ers ;  and  that  when  you  draw  near  to  our  God,  my  name 
is  breathed  before  him.  May  not  some  sweet  glimpses  of 
his  love  be  given  to  me  in  answer  to  these  petitions,  by  him 
who  has  said,  '*  Pray  for  one  another."  Oh  that  I  had 
more  of  the  spirit  of  prayer,  and  could  more  freely  and  ear- 
nestly plead  the  promises,  so  boundless  and  so  unfailing. 
I  do  at  times  "  roll  my  burden  on  the  Lord,"  and  find  peace 
in  doing  so  ;  but  too  often  I  turn  and  take  it  up  again.  Yet 
my  wayward  heart  is  in  the  school  of  Christ,  and  will  be 
disciplined  at  last. 

'  I  do  not  know  if  I  hinted  to  you  in  my  last  the  prospect 
that  lies  before  me,  that  of  becoming  a  mother.  Oh !  my 
friend,  what  a  tide  of  feelings  rushes  upon  me  as  I  write  ! 
How  great  the  responsibility  of  being  intrusted  with  the 
care  of  a  young  immortal, — one  who  may  be  a  holy  and 
zealous  child  of  God,  or  care  for  none  of  these  things.  But 
here,  again,  the  Lord  will  lay  no  duty  upon  me,  but  what 
he  will  enable  me  to  discharge.  Will  you  pray  much  for 
me,  dearest  F.  1  You  will  not  know  when  I  am  suffering, 
or  what  the  issue  is  at  the  time.  But  oh!  commit  me  to 
a  God  of  compassion  every  day,  and  then  you  will  be  able 
to  feel  for  me  what,  I  hope,  He  will  enable  me  to  feel  for 
myself,  a  sweet  confidence  that  all  will  be  well.  Yes  ;  it 
must  be  well !  It  would  be  a  mercy  to  be  raised  up  again, 
and  restored  to  my  tender  husband,  and  the  duties  that  lie 
before  me.  But  if  I  am  taken,  I  know  whose  shed  blood 
will  gain  access  even  for  me.  Yes,  "  the  friend  that  stick- 
eth  closer  than  a  brother,"  will  not  desert  me  then.     But 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN,  181 

washed  and  cleansed  in  His  blood,  and  clothed  in  His 
righteousness,  I  believe  that  should  he  take  me.  He  will 
give  me  a  place  in  his  own  temple.  It  will  be  the  lowest 
place.  It  is  wonderful  indeed  that  there  should  be  one  of 
any  kind  for  me  But  the  '•  many  mansions"  are  for  the 
poor  and  needy,  the  sinful  and  the  helpless  ;  and  I  am  of 
that  number.  My  precious  Saviour  died  that  I  might  live. 
Oh  that  1  could  respond  to  love  and  mercy  so  infinite,  by 
the  surrender  of  my  whole  self.  If  I  do  not  give  every 
thought  to  Jesus,  how  can  I  be  sure  that  I  am  one  of  His, 
when  the  universe,  were  it  mine,  could  not  repay  the  debt 
I  owe  him  !  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  wish  to  live,  if  it  be 
His  will,  but  not  otherwise.  1  would  not  change  one  cir- 
cumstance in  my  lot,  had  I  the  power,  for  He  is  wise,  and  I 
should  be  sure  to  choose  what  would  be  the  worst  and  the 
most  injurious.  I  know  not  what  shall  be  on  the  morrow, 
but  I  know  in  whom  I  have  believed,  and  that  He  will  keep 
that  which  I  have  committed  to  his  charge.  Oh  what  an 
anchor  for  the  soul  is  here  !  We  are  far  from  church,  and 
it  is  judged  prudent  that  I  should  not  go,  so  I  am  left  alone 
to  prepare  for  what  is  before  me  in  solitude  and  silence. 
It  is  somewhat  trying  not  to  be  permitted  to  unite  with  the 
congregation  of  the  Lord,  and  not  to  hear  my  dear  W.'s 
voice  entreating  them  to  cling  to  the  Saviour  ;  but  you  know 
much  more  of  such  privations  than  T  do.  I  can  still  meet 
my  morning  class,  and  feel  comfort  in  being  allowed  to  say 
a  word  in  my  Saviour's  cause. 

•  I  sympathize  in  your  enjoyment  of  the  means  of  grace 

at  B n,  and  hope  you  may  go  on  in  the  strength  thus 

obtained,  for  many  days.     It  was  a  high  privilege  to  attend 

the  ministry  of  such  a  man  as ,  and  I  hope  he  may  be 

long  spared  to  be  a  shining  light.  But  is  it  right  for  any 
Christian  to  work  beyond  the  strength  that  has  been  given 
him  ?  Did  not  the  six  months  of  absence  from  his  flock, 
each  as  it  rolled  away,  say  to  the  pastor's  heart,  that  mo- 
deration even  in  labour  is  a  duty,  and  that  the  taper  of  life 
would  longer  shed  its  rays  on  those  around,  if  it  were  al- 
lowed to  burn  calmly  and  steadily,  than  if  exposed  to  the 
wasting  winds  ?  Few  err  on  this  side,  but  surely  holy  and 
devoted  men  would  do  well  to  remember  that  they  are  stew- 
ards of  their  strength,  and  would  do  well  to  put  it  out  to 
16 


182  MEMOIR     OF 

the  best  interest.  Will  you  resume  our  valued  evening  in- 
tercourse, beginning  in  Bogatzky's  Treasury  at  the  portion 
specified  for  whatever  day  it  may  be  V 

A  postscript  to  this  letter,  by  another  hand,  announces 
that  a  new  object  for  the  exercise  of  her  affections  was  be- 
stowed, in  the  birth  of  a  daughter.  From  her  letters  shortly 
after,  may  be  gleaned  a  view  of  her  sentiments  and  emo- 
tions in  regard  to  this  new  and  cherished  gift. 

"  Oh,  M.  A.  what  a  delightful  thing  it  is  to  have  a  baby ! 
It  opens  a  new,  fresh,  full  fountain  in  the  heart,  and  makes 
it,  I  think,  kinder  and  more  pitiful  to  every  thing  that  lives. 
*  *  I  have  been  kindly  dealt  with,  and  brought 
safely  out  of  many  dangers.  My  trust  in  God  has,  I  think, 
been  increased  by  his  goodness  to  me  at  this  time,  and  my 
baby  is  the  dearest  thing  you  can  imagine.  She  already 
notices  a  great  deal,  but  does  not  smile  except  in  sleep. 
But,  Oh  !  it  is  dreadful  to  hear  her  cry  when  she  is  in  pain, 
as  helpless  babies  often  are.  Our  dear  father,  Dr.  D.  is  to 
baptize  her  next  Sunday ;  so  you  prayed  for  us  on  the 
wrong  day,  love,  but  it  would  not  be  the  less  listened  to.' 

To  a  friend  in  Kelso. 

*  Barnes,  June  4,  1837. — I  want  to  thank  you  for  your 
kind  letter,  and  the  tokens  of  remembrance,  the  kindness 
of  which  I  feel  very  much,  and  hope  you  will  indeed  give 
my  little  Mary  Lundie  a  place  in  your  affections.  1  rejoice 
in  the  thought  that  she  has  so  many  praying  friends,  and  I 
would  plead  for  her  the  promise  which  is  unto  Christians 
and  their  children.  She  was  baptized  yesterday  by  her  dear 
grandpapa,  and  the  service  was  most  soothing  and  strength- 
ening. I  hope  strength  will  be  given  to  us  by  that  good 
Shepherd  to  whom  we  have  devoted  her,  to  train  her  up  for 
him.  He  loves  the  lambs  of  the  fold,  and  surely  this  little 
one  will  be  among  those  whom  he  carries  in  His  bosom. 
When  you  remember  those  hours  to  which  you  allude,  in 
Kelso  manse,  where  you  heard  from  my  dear  parents  of  a 
Saviour's  love,  will  you  let  the  thought  remind  you  to  pray 
for  their  dear  little  grandchild.  No  one  can  quite  under- 
stand a  mother's  feelings  till  taught  by  experience.  It 
seemed  like  opening  a  new  fountain  in  my  heart, — a  love 
unlike  what  I  feel  for  any  other  ;  but  not  greater  than  all 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  183 

Other  love,  as  I  have  heard  some  mothers  say  it  is.  I  sleep 
with  baby,  and  I  am  a  great  deal  with  her  ;  and,  oh  !  I 
would  have  my  heart  always  filled  with  petitions  for  her.' 

To  her  friend  near  London. 

♦  Barnes,  July  29. — My  beloved  friend,  do  not  think  that 
I  have  been  so  long  silent  because  all  my  love  is  centered 
in  my  new  and  most  interesting  charge.  It  is  not  so.  My 
heart  turns  to  you  as  it  was  ever  wont  to  do,  with  deep  and 
fond  affection,  and  my  love  for  my  sweet  babe  makes  me 
feel  even  more  the  value  of  your  friendship,  because  I  know 
that  you  do  and  will  pray  for  her.  Oh  !  my  dear  F.,  how 
my  heart  iongs  that  this  little  one  may  be  folded  with  the 
flock  of  Jesus,  the  loving  Shepherd  of  helpless  little  chil- 
dren !  and  I  have  a  cheering  hope  that  so  it  shall  be,  for 
she  is  a  child  of  prayer,  and  our  Father  is  a  God  of  love. 
I  wish  you  were  here,  that  I  might  pour  out  my  heart  to 
you.  It  ought  to  be  more  filled  with  gratitude  than  it  is, 
for  I  have  been  floating  on  a  stream  of  mercies.  I  have 
been  spared  to  know  a  mother's  happiness,  which,  before, 
I  knew  nothing  of.  And  well  may  1  seek  to  give  glory  to 
my  Lord,  and  own  his  name  at  all  times,  for  he  has  dealt 
very  bountifully  with  me.  Your  dear  letter  did  me  good. 
It  came  as  a  voice  of  love  from  afar,  sweetly  in  unison  with 
the  song  of  praise  I  was  feebly  endeavouring  to  utter,  and 
reminding  me  of  the  heavenly  love  which  makes  Christian 
intercourse  so  delightful  on  earth.  *  *  Thank  you, 
my  own  friend,  for  cautioning  me  against  loving  my  child 
too  well.  I  feel  the  danger,  and  pray  to  be  kept  from  it. 
You  say  your  sister  never  thought  her  babe  could  die.  It 
was  quite  the  reverse  with  me.  From  the  first  it  seemed  to 
me  that  any  little  accident  might  snap  the  thread  of  so  frail 
a  life,  and  I  wondered  when  I  saw  her  so  well,  and  so 
quickly  growing.  Now,  I  sometimes  fear  I  count  her  too 
much  my  own.  O  !  pray  that  my  heart  may  be  full  of 
Christ ;  and  then  nothing  will  be  an  idol. 

From  this  period  the  writing  in  the  diary  becomes  less 
frequent.  Her  hands  were  engaged  by  her  domestic  du- 
ties ;  but  her  solicitude  for  advancement  in  the  Divine  life 
grew  and  strengthened  the  more,  that  under  the  responsi- 
bilities of  a  teacher  of  the  females  of  the  parish,  of  a  mistress 


184  M  E  M  0  I  R      0  F 

with  respect  to  the  souls  of  domestics,  and  under  the  draw- 
ings of  heart  for  the  soul  of  her  child,  her  spirit  seemed  more 
continually  prayerful.      When  suffering  from  headaches,  so 
that  she  could  not  herself  partake  of  the  refreshment  of  the 
sanctuary,  she  would  still  teach  her  class,  and  despatch  her 
maids  to  church  ;  for  their  soul's  sake,  toiling  to  nurse  her 
infant,  and,  with  her  Bible  or  Hymn-book  propt  open  near 
her,  catching,  as  opportunity  served,  a  morsel  of  that  divine 
food  after  which  her  heart  longed.     Her  joyful  and  thank- 
ful notices  in  letters,  of  the  commencement  of  prayer  meet- 
ings, the  establishment  of  missionary  societies,  or  of  any 
dawnings  of  grace  in  the  young  persons  of  her  own  class  or 
elsewhere  ;• — her  glad  records   of  faithful   sermons,  or  of 
words  of  Christian  counsel  and  love  dropt  by  those  with 
whom  she  had  intercourse, — exhibit  a  heart  going  out  con- 
tinually after  spiritual   improvement,  and  longing  after  the 
growth  of  the  Redeemer's  kingdom.     She  loved  much,  and 
had  the  felicity  of  being  much  and  tenderly  beloved  of  many, 
and  there  was  a  constant  interchange  of  love-tokens  going 
on  between  her  and  friends  in  various  situations  and  sta- 
tions in  society.     Even  the  gift  of  a  bit  of  honey-comb  from 
one  of  her  pupils,  was  too  pleasant  to  her  to  be  passed  un- 
noticed in  a  letter  ;  and  she  expresses  her  wonder  that  her 
efforts  to  be  useful  to  the  girls  of  her  class  should  all  along 
be  returned  by  such  kindness  and  love  to  herself.     '  But,' 
she  adds,  '  I  desire  to  be  thankful,  hoping  that  to  some  of 
them  the  word  has  not  been  spoken  in  vain.'     In  a  letter, 
written  before  her  babe  had  attained  its  eighth  week,  she 
says, — '  On  Saturday  morning  I  had  my  class,  as  I  thought 
I  should  like  to  speak  to  the  girls  before  the  communion. 
I  brought  my  baby,  dressed  in  their  frock,  and  told  them  she 
was  come  to  thank  them  for  it.     They  could  not  be  satisfied 
till  every  one  had  held  her  in  their  arms  :  so,  poor  little  las- 
sie !   she   had  many  transfers.     We   afterwards   read  the 
parable  of  the  wedding  garment,  and  the  passage  in  Reve- 
lations about  the  marriage  supper  of  the  Lamb.' 

The  minutes  of  subjects  pursued  in  her  class,  incidental 
notices  of  individuals,  of  their  successful  answers,  of  any 
token  of  improvement,  &c.,  show  how  judicious  and  how 
hearty  she  was  in  her  endeavours  to  do  them  good.  With 
a  view  to  aid  them  in  private  devotion,  and  hereafter  to  in- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  185 

troduce  them  to  social  prayer,  she  put  them  upon  writing 
compositions  of  that  description  ;  and  when  any  sentence 
pleased  her,  it  found  a  place  in  the  minutes  of  her  class. 
Thus  the  new  year's  prayer  of  one  girl,  the  new  year's 
rules  of  another,  &c.  <fcc.,  stand  still  in  her  writing,  memo- 
rials of  the  loving  teacher  and  friend  who  was  with  them 
for  a  season,  as  well  as  a  fragment  of  prayer  by  one  who  did 
not  survive  to  finish  it,  concluded  with  the  following  af- 
fecting memorandum  : — '  "  Accept  of  my  sincere  thanks 
for  health  of  body  and  peace  of  *  *  "  Here  the  angel 
of  death  arrested  her,  and  now  she  sings  praises  in  sweeter 
tones  in  the  presence  of  Him  she  loves.'  She  also  enters, 
in  reference  to  this  young  person,  '  M.  G.  communicated 
for  the  second  time,  December  17, — died  January  18, — in 
hope  of  glory.'  In  a  letter,  writing  of  M.  G.,  that  her  dis- 
ease was  fever,  she  adds,  '  She  has  been  ill  three  weeks, 
and  I,  partly  from  dilatoriness,  and  partly  from  fear  of  in- 
fection, have,  not  gone  to  see  her  till  yesterday  ;  but  alas  ! 
she  did  not  open  her  eyes,  or  testify  the  least  intelligence. 
I  believe  the  dear  girl  to  be  one  of  those  who  are  gathered 
in  the  arms  of  the  Saviour.  There  has  been  a  seriousness 
and  earnestness  about  her  in  particular  during  the  past  few 
months,  very  encouraging  to  witness.  She  has  carried  on 
family  worship  for  her  grandmother  ;  and  often  in  fine 
mornings,  early,  her  neighbours  have  seen  her  alone  in  the 
garden  with  her  Bible  ;  and  often  in  the  field  her  voice  has 
been  raised  to  reprove  wicked  words  and  jesting,  in  those 
around  her.  Her  poor  granny  told  W.  and  me  yesterday, 
with  many  tears,  that  we  had  made  M.  a  new  woman.  Oh 
that  this  bitter  sorrow  might  teach  her  who  it  is  that  changes 
hearts,  by  making  her  own  new !  M.  G.  may  recover  ;  but 
I  greatly  fear  her  sands  are  almost  run,  and  she  has  had  no 
one  to  care  for  her  soul,  or  to  speak  to  her  in  the  language 
of  Zion  ;  and  now,  let  me  be  ever  so  anxious,  it  is  too  late. 
Oh,  mamma,  I  have  been  very  wrong  !  I  hope  this  may  be 
a  lesson  to  me.  1  wish  I  more  fully  believed  and  trusted 
the  promises  in  the  ninety-first  psalm.' 

If  such  was  her  lively  interest  when  tokens  of  good  ap- 
peared, and  such  her  severe  rebukes  of  herself,  when  not 
quite  clear  that  her  own  actions  or  motives  would  bear  to 
be  weighed  in  the  balance  of  the  sanctuary,  how  deep  was 
16* 


186  MEMOIR     OF 

her  grief,  how  mournful  her  lamentation,  upon  any  outbreak- 
ing of  the  old  leaven  in  the  parish  !  Holidays  and  fair  days, 
and  those  occasions  when  persons,  uniformly  correct  in 
habit  at  other  seasons,  strangely  think  they  have  got  a  dis- 
pensation for  sin,  were  days  of  heaviness  to  her, — days  of 
mourning,  as  if  her  children  had  fallen  into  sin,  and  of 
much  prayer  for  restraining  grace. 

In  reply  to  advice  and  consolation,  tendered  on  occasion 
of  her  having  poured  out  her  grief  on  account  of  some  trans- 
gression, the  rebuking  of  which  had  produced  retaliation  by 
the  enemy's  old  weapons — censure  and  slander — she 
writes  : — '  I  am  very  much  obliged  for  your  good  advice, 
and  hope  it  may  help  us  to  steer  our  course  so  as  to  give 
no  unnecessary  offence.  It  would  require  us  to  be  wise  as 
serpents,  and  that,  I  fear,  we  shall  never  be.  But  it  is  a 
happiness  to  suffer  for  the  truth  ;  my  chief  source  of  sorrow 
when  unpleasant  things  occur,  is  the  fear,  lest  by  a  want 
of  caution,  or  by  something  wrong  in  the  way  .of  managing, 
we  have  caused  the  way  of  truth  to  be  evil  spoken  of.' 
*  These  things  make  us  anxious  to  let  our  light  shine,  that 
mouths  may  gradually  be  stopped.  How  difficult  it  is  for 
a  simple-hearted  person  to  manage  with  those  who  are  wise 
in  their  own  eyes.  Grace  could  soften  them.  When  will 
it  come  1  We  have  need  of  patience,  and  to  be  always 
looking  to  Jesus,  our  meek  and  holy  pattern.' 

'  Wallace  appealed  to  his  people  on  Sunday,  on  the  use 
they  had  made  of  his  ministry.  It  was  very  touching,  and 
went  through  wy  heart  at  least.  I  could  not  but  feel  as  if 
it  was  the  beginning  of  a  blessing  on  the  elders'  prayer- 
meeting.  But  when  shall  the  fulness  of  it  come,  and  the 
people  be  aroused  to  flee  to  the  city  of  refuge  ?  I  am  dwell- 
ing with  great  delight  on  Pike's  Guide  to  Young  Disciples, 
and  think  of  making  it  a  text-book  for  my  class.  I  am  not 
free  from  headaches.  Last  Sabbath  afternoon  I  was  quite 
useless.  Oh,  if  they  would  not  come  on  Sunday,  how  glad 
I  should  be  !  For,  when  I  have  them,  to  keep  awake  is 
impossible,  and  I  just  doze  the  weary  time  away.'  At  an- 
other time  she  writes,  '  I  am  not  likely  to  write  a  very  bright 
letter,  but  you  will  make  allowance  for  my  headache.  Oh, 
if  headaches  were  abolished,  I  think  half  the  invalids  in 
the  kingdom  would  be  cured  !'     Again,  '  my  head  has  been 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  187 

better  since  I  wrote.  I  feel  a  sadness  at  the  coming  on  of 
winter ;  the  cold,  the  bleak  country,  the  want  of  improving 
society,  make  me  long  for  some  whom  I  have  known  and 
loved,  and  who  are  far  away.  I  must  engage  in  some  pur- 
suit that  will  occupy  my  mind,  for  I  have  a  good  deal  of 
mere  house-keeping  and  sewing,  and  of  dancing  my  little 
fairy,  who  jumps  when  she  is  pleased.' 

To  her  friend  near  London. 

'  Noi\  2. —  *  *  *  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  a  sheet 
filled  by  you  being  lost,  and  thankfully  own  that  no 
letter  of  yours  comes  without  reviving  my  desire  to  keep 
in  the  safe  and  narrow  way.  I  count  it  one  of  my  chief 
privileges  to  be  permitted  to  correspond  with  you.  Do  not 
frown  on  me,  dearest  F.,  or  think  that  I  flatter  you.  It  is 
not  so.  I  never  dare  say  the  half  of  what  I  feel  on  this 
subject.  My  love  for  you  is  very  great,  and  this  probably 
makes  what  you  say  come  with  more  impression  than  it 
might  from  another  quarter  ;  but  it  also  pleases  me  to  think, 
that  it  is  in  answer  to  your  prayers  for  me,  that  you  are  per- 
mitted to  write  in  a  way  that  does  me  good.  Is  it  not 
cheering  to  think,  that  while  our  plans  and  attempts  to  glo- 
rify God  in  winning  souls  so  often  fail,  if  we  live  in  a  wait- 
ing frame,  we  may  be  made  useful,  when  we  have  not  espe- 
cially intended  it  ?  Words  that  we  have  forgotten,  may  be 
as  the  good  seed  that  took  root,  and  have  eternal  conse- 
.quences.  Ah,  how  watchful  this  should  make  us  over  every 
word  !  Surrounded  as  we  are  by  those  who  are  by  nature 
lost,  and  who,  if  saved  by  grace,  still  have,  like  us,  a  con- 
flict to  maintain  against  powerful  foes,  we  are  under  un- 
ceasing responsibility  to  seek  their  good.  If  we  forget 
this,  some  incautious  word,  or  inconsistent  action  may  cast 
them  back,  and  we  may  incur  the  curse  of  those  "  who 
make  a  brother  to  offend.''  This  is  our  collateral  respon- 
sibility ;  but  we  must  dwell  as  seeing  Him  who  ever  looks 
on  us,  and  seek  to  let  his  Spirit  breathe  on  the  chords  of  our 
hearts,  and  keep  them  in  tune  ;  or  we  cannot  teach  others  to 
sing  the  irielodies  of  heaven.  *  *  *  O  that,  pilgrim-like,  I 
were  ever,  staff" in  hand,  journeying  on  without  looking  back. 
Then,  I  am  sure,  I  should  grow  in  likeness  to  God  It  is  sad 
to  bear  the  name  of  Christian,  and  to  dishonour  Christ  by  a 


1S8  MEMOIR     OF 

careless  walk.  But  why  should  I  trouble  you  with  my  com- 
plaint, when  you  are  too  far  oft' to  understand  its  source  exact- 
ly, or  to  see  its  actings.  Would  that  you  were  near  me,  my 
own  friend,  I  could  tell  you  better  about  this  deceitful  heart, 
than  I  could  to  almost  any  other  human  being.  You  would 
help  me  to  search  out  its  sins,  and  seek  God  with  me.  But 
this  cannot  be,  and  I  must  love  you  at  a  distance,  and  re- 
joice to  know  that  in  the  hour  when  earth  is  shut  out,  and 
you  are  alone  with  God,  I  am  not  forgotten.  It  is  a  sweet 
thought,  and  if  not  forgotten  by  you,  how  much  less  by  Him 
who  has  graven  my  name  on  the  palms  of  his  hands.  It 
is  this  very  fact,  that  He  is  so  kind  and  faithful  in  all  His 
dealings  with  me,  that  makes  me  wonder  so  much  at  my 
own  ingratitude  to  Him.  I  do  long  sometimes  to  hear  the 
voices  of  those  I  love  ;  but  it  is  sin  to  long  for  what  I  have 
not, — sin  against  Him  who  has  in  perfect  wdsdom  and  love 
disposed  my  lot,  and  given  to  me,  who  deserve  nothing,  all 
that  is  for  my  good.  Do  you  remember  a  poem  by  one 
whom  I  greatly  admire,  the  excellent  Herbert,  "  Thou  shalt 
answer.  Lord,  for  me  ?"  How  lightly  his  heart  rests  on 
every  earthly  thing  !  How  happy  was  he  in  his  one  satis- 
factory portion !  It  is  vain  to  think  that  this  or  that  would 
add  to  our  happiness  ;  or  that  we  should  be  more  holy,  if 
such  and  such  were  the  case.  Happiness  is  in  the  spirit 
that  dwells  in  the  secret  of  the  Lord,  and  holiness  springs 
from  the  same  source.  So  I  may  have  both  to  overflowing, 
even  if  the  blessings  I  have,  and  in  which  my  very  soul  is 
bound  up,  were  withdrawn.  Have  you  much  encourage- 
ment in  your  work  1  Ah  !  this  question  tells  more  than 
was  meant  by  it,  for  I  am  too  apt  to  work  for  encourage- 
ment, instead  of  resigning  all  into  the  hand  of  God,  and 
being  content  to  be  nothing,  and  let  whom  He  wills  be  the 
instrument,  so  his  work  be  done.  It  would  be  delightful 
to  feel  thus,  quite  renouncing  self,  and  the  gratification 
arising  from  a  belief  that  we  have  been  useful,  and  yet  not 
to  relax  our  exertions.  Will  you  tell  me  your  thoughts  on 
this  subject?  for  it  is  one  that  often  dwells  on  my  mind 
with  a  degree  of  perplexity.  It  seems  difficult  to  unite  the 
willingness  to  see  no  fruit  following  our  individual  labours, 
with  an  earnest  desire  for  the  spread  of  the  Redeemer's 
kingdom.     *     *     I  feel  as  you  do,  the  great  importance 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  189 

of  a  clear  declaration  of  the  blessed  doctrines  of  justifica- 
tion and  sanctification.  This  must  be  taught  by  the  Spirit. 
I  feel  a  strong  conviction  that  no  ministry  can  be  eminently 
useful,  when  His  power  is  not  distinctly  owned,  dwelt  on, 
and  implored.  It  is  the  Spirit  that  quickeneth.  May  His 
power  be  shed  abroad  on  both  pastor  and  people  here  and 
with  you.' 

The  year  closed  upon  the  little  Christian  family  settled 
comfortably  in  the  manse,  and  encircled,  for  one  week,  by 
dear  brothers  and  cousins  from  the  universities,  with  whom, 
as  usual,  private  spiritual  converse  and  mutual  prayer  was 
cultivated  by  this  Christian  sister  and  friend. 

To  a  dear  relative. 

'  It  grieves  me  to  hear  that  my  dear  aunt  is  yet  so  little 
restored  to  the  power  of  motion  ;  my  hopes  had  run  much 
faster  than  the  reality,  and  I  am  greatly  disappointed.  I 
do  trust  she  will  not  long  be  detained  from  those  privileges 
she  so  highly  values,  nor  you,  my  dear  aunt,  obliged  to  go 
alone.  May  there  be  many  happy  days  yet  in  store  for  you, 
days  in  which  you  may  walk  to  the  house  of  God  in  com- 
pany, and  return  to  converse  on  the  great  things  that  have 
been  showed  you  there.  Meantime,  may  Jesus,  the  friend 
of  the  afflicted,  overshadow  your  dwelling  with  the  wings 
of  His  love,  and  fill  you  with  all  joy  and  peace  in  believing. 
When  He  speaks  to  the  heart,  there  is  less  need  of  human 
teachers.  Sometimes  He  removes  them  far  from  us,  to 
teach  us  to  draw  instruction  directly  from  himself. 

'  I  need  not  attempt  to  tell  you  how  much  we  have  en- 
joyed this  week  with  the  dear  young  people,  but  it  is  far 
too  short,  and  one  is  grieved  that  it  is  impossible  to  cut  the 
pinions  of  time,  and  detain  the  enjoyment  that  is  borne  away 
on  the  flying  hour.  They  will  tell  you  of  us,  and  describe 
the  house  and  our  employments.  To  day  being  very  fine, 
we  have  had  a  lovely  walk  to  the  top  of  one  of  our  hills, 
where  there  are  many  irregular  summits,  and  some  lochs 
lying  among  them,  wild  and  treeless.  The  view  of  Kin- 
ross and  Lochlevin  is  finest  from  thence,  and  we  enjoyed 
running  down  the  declivities  all  in  a  body.  What  a  pity 
that  we  are  so  soon  to  part !  Your  Christmas  present  re- 
minded us  of  the  long-gone  days  when  we  used  to  hail  the 


190  IIEMOIR      OF 

arrival  of  "  aunt's  basket "  as  one  of  the  brightest  events  of 
the  year,  to  look  forward  to  it  for  weeks,  and  find  in  it 
enough  to  interest  our  young  fancies  for  weeks  more.  Those 
were  happy  days, — and  they  are  gone.  The  beaming  smile 
that  sprung  to  greet  our  happiness  is  gone,  and  the  kind 
voice  is  silent  that  used  to  melt  into  such  tones  of  tenderness 
when  addressing  us, — favoured  children  as  we  were.  But 
that  voice  is  sweeter  now,  and  tuned  to  nobler  themes,  and 
oh  !  blessed  hope,  we  shall  see  the  smile  again,  bright  with 
heavenly  joy.  There  was  something  about  my  beloved 
father  which  I  have  never  seen  in  any  other  human  being. 
Can  you,  who  knew  his  mind  so  well,  help  me  to  find  out 
what  it  was  ?  There  was  a  humility,  a  simplicity,  a  grace 
in  the  midst  of  all  the  power  of  mind  that  marked  his  con- 
versation and  actions.  A  beautiful  tenderness  that  sheltered 
the  meanest  from  a  wound,  a  brilliant  wit — so  peculiarly 
lovely  when  employed,  as  it  sometimes  was,  to  avert  the 
danger  of  dispute.  All  these  were  charming,  and  yet 
blended  together  so  as  to  produce  a  character  which  it 
would  be  impossible  to  describe,  and  whose  resemblance 
I  do  not  expect  ever  to  see  on  earth.  I  have  dwelt  long 
on  this  dear  theme,  but  not  too  long,  I  know,  for  you.' 

This  picture  of  her  father,  which  never  faded  from  her 
view,  may  be  fitly  followed  by  a  fragment  of  poetry  which 
adds  another  trait  to  the  delineation — his  Sabbath-day  as- 
pect and  converse  : — 

A    FRAGMENT. 

*  Farewell,  ye  Sabbaths  of  my  early  years  ! 
Your  latest  comes  apace  and  soon  will  fly  ; 
But  your  blest  memory  my  spirit  cheers, 
And  still  shall  cheer,  till  my  departing  sigh. 
Sabbaths  of  Peace  !     How  happy  was  your  flight, 
When,  gladden'd  by  a  father's  smiles  and  love. 
So  tender  when  he  spake  of  Heaven's  delight, 
It  seemed  a  blest  reflection  from  above.' 

A  portion  of  the  sentiments  committed  to  the  Diary  shall 
wind  up  the  year. 

Diary. — ^  Dec.  10,  1837. — How  many  mercies  have 
gone  over  my  head  since  last  I  wrote  the  expression  of  my 
anticipations  here  !    Do  I  praise  my  God  by  a  life  of  holi- 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  191 

ness,  remembering  that  "  thanksgiving  is  very  good,  but 
thanks-living  is  far  better  1"  Next  Sabbath  we  hope  to 
encompass  the  sacred  table  of  Christ ;  and  I  long  to  do  so 
with  a  true  heart,  having  a  sweeter  taste  of  his  love,  and 
more  lively  desire  to  be  with  him,  and  more  earnest  striv- 
ing to  put  off  the  old  man,  and  be  one  with  Him,  than  I 
have  known  before.  In  my  own  frames  I  put  no  confidence  ; 
many  times  they  have  deceived  me  ;  and  ardour,  that,  at 
the  moment  of  its  height,  seemed  as  if  it  would  surely  rise 
into  a  flame,  that  should  not  be  extinguislfed,  till  it  melted 
into  the  blaze  of  celestial  glory,  has  faded  away,  and  left 
me  poor,  helpless,  cold,  and  stumbling.  But,  blessed  be 
my  God,  my  frames  are  not  my  Saviour.  He  stands  firm 
amid  all  the  fluctuations  of  the  deceitful  heart.  He  bears 
with  my  infirmities,  He  pities  my  weakness,  He  watches 
the  feeble  spark  that  seems  about  to  expire,  and  pours  in 
streams  of  oil,  even  His  own  precious  love,  so  that  it  revives 
again,  and  shines  forth  to  His  praise.  I  have  been  anx- 
iously remembering  for  some  time  that  Christians  should 
let  their  light  shine  before  men  ;  and  that,  in  our  situation, 
our  light,  whatever  it  be,  cannot  be  hid.  If  the  light  in  us 
be  darkness,  how  can  we  hope  to  be  made  the  instrument 
of  enlightening  others  ?  If  it  be  false,  polluted  with  earth, 
dim,  and  imperfect,  it  cannot  win  men  to  seek  light  for 
themselves.  If  it  be  unsteady  and  wavering,  ready  to 
be  blown  out  by  every  breeze,  it  may  be  a  beacon  of  warn- 
ing,  but  it  cannot  be  a  light  in  the  hand  of  God  to  our 
fellow-sinners,  pointing  out  the  safety  and  blessedness  of 
Zion's  pilgrims.  Oh,  that  our  light  were  purified,  and  kept 
clear  and  steady !  Then,  though  feeble,  it  must  be  useful 
in  its  fleeting  day.  What  a  pity,  when  our  days  on  earth 
are  so  few,  to  be  content  to  let  any  of  them  pass  in  dimness. 
The  utmost  we  can  do  for  Christ  is  small  enough  ;  we 
need  not  make  it  less.  But  those  cheering  words  of  David 
have  often  rested  on  my  mind  : — 

"  The  Lord  will  light  my  candle  so, 

That  it  shall  shine  full  bright ; 
The  Lord  my  God  will  also  make 

My  darkness  to  be  light." 

In  this  will  I  be  confident ;  and  when  I  find  my  light  has 


192  MEMOIROP 

been  misrepresented,  and  been  the  unwilling  cause  of 
leading  others  astray,  I  will  seek  unto  my  God  to  make  it 
so  bright  with  his  own  beams  of  love,  that  all  may  see  that 
it  was  lighted  by  Him,  and  will  soon  shine  in  heaven. 
Animating  hope  !  but  unlike  the  reality.  Much  is  to  be 
done  in  my  soul  ere  it  can  be  thus.  Oh,  my  God,  come 
and  work  in  me  by  thy  good  Spirit,  and  make  me  delight  in 
the  great  work ;  knowing  that  the  time  is  short,  the  ac- 
count soon  to  be  given  in  and  for  ever  made  up  !  I  wish 
all  the  church  on  earth  had  their  gaze  so  bent  on  God  that 
their  faces  might  shine,  as  did  the  face  of  Moses  on  the 
mount.  Ah  !  but  who  will,  like  him,  be  forty  days  in  fast- 
ing and  prayer,  and  close  converse  with  God  !  Were  there 
more  of  this,  the  holy  name  would  not  be  so  often  evil 
spoken  of,  through  our  inconsistencies. 

Next  Sunday,  baby's  maid  is  to  come,  for  the  first  time, 
to  the  table.  I  have  staid  at  home  to-day  that  she  may  go 
to  church.  I  write  with  my  lively  babe  on  my  knee, 
May  I  get  help  to  train  this  sweet  gift  of  God  for  himself.' 


MARY      LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  193 


CHAPTER   XII. 

GROWTH     IN     LOVE. 

It  is  delightful  to  observe  Mary's  advancement  in  Chris- 
tian love,  which  is  so  conspicuous  as  her  few  years  rolled 
away.  Love  is  *  of  all  the  graces  best.'  Humility  in  its 
exercise  is  inevitably  connected  with  mournful  convictions 
of  unworthiness — even  Hope,  that  day-star  of  the  soul,  is 
not  satisfied  with  the  present,  it  embraces  future  bliss  ;  but 
Love^  in  whatever  measure  it  exists,  is  actual  enjoyment. 
Blessed  be  He  who  constructed  the  human  heart !  its 
capacities  for  loving  are  immeasurable  ; — its  elasticity,  its 
expansive  powers,  are  commensurate  with  the  objects 
of  attraction.  Even  in  an  evil  world,  and  with  a  heart 
fettered  by  remaining  corruption,  and  trammelled  by  its 
case  of  clay,  its  capabilities  are  boundless  ;  and,  instead 
of  being  attenuated  by  expansion,  it  is  consolidated,  and 
becomes  capable  of  still  greater  and  greater  efforts  of  use- 
fulness, of  self-denial,  of  tender  and  watchful  observance. 
Exercised  in  solitude,  its  breath  is  prayer,  its  thoughts  are 
sympathy,  its  devices  are  usefulness. — Exercised  in  socie- 
ty, its  track  is  mercy,  its  eye-beam  is  benevolence,  its  words 
are  peace. — Exercised  towards  the  reconciled  God  in 
Christ  Jesus  our  Righteousness,  it  is  gratitude,  praise, 
humble  adoration,  joyful  anticipation,  peace, — eternal,  un- 
conquerable peace — begun  below,  but  having  its  stronghold 
far  above,  out  of  sight  of  earth. 

'  The  love  that  leans  on  a  celestial  urn, 
Scatters  a  thousand  streams, — nor  seeks  return  ; 
For  she  doth  draw  from  her  own  hidden  well, 
That  flows  for  ever, — and  would  flow  unseen, — 
But  that  the  freshening  flower  and  livelier  green 
Betray  her,  hastening  with  her  God  to  dwell.' 

So  was  it.     She  was  *  hastening  with  her  God  to  dwell. ' 
Many  expressions  in  the  diary  and  letters  convey  the  idea 
17 


194  M  E  M  0  I  R      O  F 

that  her  anticipations  of  an  early  removal  from  this  scene 
had  been  frequent  and  strong.  Yet  it  does  not  appear  that 
this  arose  from  any  conscious  infirmity ;  for  her  exertions 
were  increased,  rather  than  relaxed.  It  was  her  longing 
to  be  free  from  sin,  to  see  the  face  of  Him  whom,  '  having 
not  seen,  she  loved  ;' — it  was  her  consciousness  of  the  un- 
genial  clime  that  earth  afforded,  which  led  her  to  be  look- 
ing out  as  for  the  dawn,  and  to  be  asking,  with  '  the  Pil- 
grim, '  How  far  from  home,  O  Lord,  am  I  V — and  which 
produced  such  expressions  as  that  just  quoted  from  her 
diary,  '  that  all  may  see  that  it  was  lighted  by  Him,  and 
will  soon  shine  in  heaven.^ 

To  her  sister  she  writes  of  her  father,  on  the  sixth  anni- 
versary of  the  day  when  he  was  taken  from  us  : — *  I  had  a 
quiet  and  solitary  morning  on  the  16th,  recalling  all  the 
past,  and  seeking  grace  for  the  future.  How  sweet  is 
every  remembrance  of  our  beloved  father  !  His  tenderness 
to  his  children,  his  compassion  for  the  sorrowful,  his 
sorrow  for  the  sinful,  and  his  desire  to  win  them  by  love, — 
come  back  in  sweet  memorial  to  my  heart,  and  furnish  a 
model  I  should  love  to  imitate.'  She  then  adds, — '  I  hope, 
dear,  you  have  been  able  to  attend  "  the  preachings''^  with 
comfort  and  profit.  Ah,  how  much  too  seldom  that  sweet 
ordinance  comes  in  our  country  !  I,  for  one,  am  sure  it 
would  quicken  me  greatly  to  have  it  often  ;  but  the  presence 
of  the  Master  of  the  feast  is  the  great  matter,  and  I  trust 
He  was  made  known  to  you  in  the  breaking  of  bread.' 

To  her  surviving  parent,  her  sympathizing  love  was  so 
true,  so  extensive,  so  minute,  so  intelligent,  that  it  seems  a 
thing  alone,  in  counting  up  '  wilderness  mercies.'  Many 
children  receive  parental  kindness  and  exertion  as  matters 
of  course, — and  so  they  are  ;  but  Mary  counted  and  dwelt 
on  each  new  act  as  anew  and  undeserved  treasure  ;  antici- 
pated each  meeting  as  a  joy  almost  too  much  for  earth,  and 
never,  on  any  parting,  could  restrain  her  tears.  The  sketch 
of  that  faithful  heart  would  be  incomplete,  without  a  glance 
into  that  deep  well  of  love.  In  reference  to  the  indisposi- 
tion of  a  member  of  the  family,  she  writes : — '  I  feel  con- 
cerned at  what  you  say  of  his  health ;  but,  my  dear  mam- 
ma, I  think  that  having  been  long  enough  in  this  weary 
world  to  see  the  fading  of  those  you  loved,  you  are  perhaps 


^?ARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  195 

more  alarmed  than  the  things  you  have  mentioned  sanc- 
tion. But  be  assured  that,  while  I  write  this,  I  am  keenly- 
alive  to  every  thing  that  makes  you  anxious,  and  shall  make 
it  matter  of  prayer,  as  well  as  of  the  most  tender  sympathy. 
I  trust,  my  mother,  there  are  yet  in  store  for  you  many  days 
of  peace  and  happiness  here,  ere  you  are  called  to  the 
blessed  land  where  grief  will  be  remembered  but  as  a  dream 
of  the  night.'  *  Uncle  Henry  says  it  is  possible  you  may 
come  too.  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  mamma,  I  dare  hardly  think  of 
it,  lest  you  should  not !  It  would  be  indeed  a  delight  beyond 
what  I  have  dared  to  hope,  to  see  you  so  soon  again.  If 
you  can  coine,  do  write  soon,  and  give  me  the  happiness  of 
knowing  it.  You  will  now,  I  hope,  come  and  see  your 
longing  children.  It  will  renew  your  youth  (at  least  it 
does  mine)  to  see  your  merry  little  youngest  daughter 
laughing  and  springing,  and  shaking  her  sage  bit  head  at 
you.' 

*  February  27,  1838. — My  heart  was  with  you  on  Sun- 
day, when  I  believe  you  were  engaged  at  the  Lord's  Table  ; 
and  yesterday,  when  you  would  be  in  church,  I  read  a 
sermon  of  J.  B.  Patterson's  on  the  subject.  I  trust  you 
were  refreshed  and  strengthened  to  go  on  your  way  rejoic- 
ing, looking  for  and  hasting  to  the  blessed  time  when  there 
shall  be  no  more  sickness  of  heart,  but  abounding  peace  in 
the  presence  of  Him  who  has  redeemed  us.  Oh  !  that  this 
delightful  hope  had  more  effect  on  our  daily  life,  making 
us  seek  more  close  and  frequent  communion  with  God,  and 
bringing  every  thought,  and  word,  and  disposition,  into  sub- 
jection to  His  will.' 

Of  her  father-in-law  she  writes,  *  I  could  scarcely  love 
him  more  if  he  were  my  very  own  father.  I  feel  most  ten- 
derly alive  to  every  thing  connected  with  him.  I  wish  he 
would  write  to  me  twice  a-year  or  so.' 

Few  have  felt  more  tenderly,  or  yet  endured  more  cheer- 
fully, that  which  all  must  feel,  who  love  ardently,  and  are 
divided  from  what  they  love.  The  following  extract  from 
a  letter,  written  after  parting  from  her  new-year's  party  of 
youthful  relatives  is  introduced  here,  rather  beyond  its  date, 
because  it  at  the  same  time  expresses  her  love  for  them, 
and  something  of  her  delight  in  being  a  mother  : — 

*  Cleish,  Jan.,  1838. — My  dearest  E.,  this  is  Wednesday, 


196  MEMOIR     OF 

and  though  I  have  survived  the  departure  of  the  dear  young 
party,  I  have  felt  weary,  and  my  head  has  ached  ever 
since  ;  missing  them  at  every  turn,  and  remembering  twen- 
ty things  I  meant  to  have  said,  but  did  not.  Time  flew 
with  such  envious  speed,  that  many  things  were  left  un- 
done :  it  is  difficult  to  apportion  every  hour  aright, 

*'  When  all  the  sands  are  diamond  sparks, 
That  glitter  as  they  pass." 

Oh  !  it  is  sad  to  be  parted  from  ail  one's  early  circle  ;  from 
every  face  that  helped  to  make  childhood  happy  ;  and  this 
is  perhaps  more  felt  in  a  solitary  place  than  it  might  be  else- 
where. I  want  to  express  my  joy  that  the  painful  part  of 
your  dear  sister's  affair  is  over,  and  the  happy  time  is  come. 
She  will  be  astonished  at  the  degree  of  her  own  happiness, 
I  believe,  when  her  little  new  one  twines  himself  about  her 
heart  with  absorbing  power.  I  long  to  know  how  she  does 
feel.  With  me,  when  the  shock  was  over,  my  predomi- 
nant emotions  were  wonder,  and  gratitude,  and  dependence. 
I  felt  completely  in  the  hands  of  God,  and  saw  his  wisdom 
and  love  in  events  from  which  I  should  otherwise  have 
shrunk.  It  was  a  very  happy  state,  and  the  new  fountain  of 
love  opened  in  my  heart,  seemed  to  flow  out  to  every  body, 
as  well  as  to  the  dear  little  object  of  it.  *  *         I 

trust  your  nephew  is  one  of  those  little  ones  who  are  pre- 
cious in  the  sight  of  the  kind  Shepherd.  My  brother 
George  is  not  strong.  He  had  frequent  indisposition  while 
here,  and  so  many  holiday  exercises,  that  it  was  scarcely 
holiday  at  all  for  him,  poor  fellow  !  He  is  a  most  dear  and 
affectionate  brother,  and  so  considerate  and  loving,  that  he 
really  is  not  like  any  other  youth  I  ever  knew.  To  be  sure 
I  have  not  known  many  as  I  know  him.  He  used  to  come 
to  the  piano  about  nine  for  his  greatest  treat,  and  he  is  so 
fond  of  music,  that  the  simplest  little  melody  is  not  lost  on 
him.  He  said  he  should  not  take  well  with  the  bachelor- 
hall  they  keep  in  Glasgow  after  this.  He  is  very  much  in 
earnest  about  divine  things.  Oh  !  how  I  wish  it  were  pos- 
sible for  me  to  be  near  him,  and  of  any  comfort  and  use  to 
him.' 

Of  her  elder  brother  she  wrote  : — '  We  enjoyed  the  six 
days  Corie  spent  with  us  very  much.     While  I  complain- 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  197 

ed  of  the  shortness  of  the  visit,  he  said  it  was  an  uncom- 
monly long  one  for  him.  He  was  most  kind  and  brotherly, 
and  observant  in  a  degree  I  could  not  have  expected  from 
one  so  used  to  live  alone.  We  had  a  little  very  pleasant 
conversation  on  eternal  things,  and  on  Sunday  I  read  him 
great  part  of  Phillip's  "  New  Song  in  Heaven,"  which  he 
liked  very  much.' 

Though  many  proofs  of  her  interest  in  the  parish,  and 
longings  for  its  spiritual  welfare  have  already  appeared,  as 
the  present  chapter  is  devoted  to  exhibit  the  expansion  of 
her  love,  this  may  be  the  best  place  to  insert  some  other 
expressions  of  it.  '  I  have  just  begun  to  distribute  tracts, 
and  hope  those  little  silent  visiters  may  prove  messengers 
of  peace  to  some  around  us.  I  have  only  undertaken  fif- 
teen houses,  as  my  time  will  hardly  admit  of  more.'  *  I 
like  the  work  very  much,  as  it  enables  me  to  speak  of  eter- 
nal things,  making  an  opening  for  me.  There  are  in  the 
parish  a  few  drops  of  blessing,  but  Oh !  where  is  the  re- 
freshing shower,  that  should  make  our  wilderness  blossom 
as  the  rose  !'  '  My  class  is  rather  in  an  interesting  state  at 
present,  at  least  /  hope  so.  W.  has  resumed  his  for  young 
men,  which  is  well  attended.'  '  I  am  enjoying  Leighton 
on  Peter  very  much.  How  much  might  we  learn,  if  we, 
like  this  holy  man,  studied  the  Bible  verse  by  verse,  and 
word  by  word,  imploring  the  teaching  of  the  Spirit.  His 
deep  wisdom,  and  intense  enjoyment  of  Scripture,  make 
me  grieve  that  I  have  so  little  entered  into  the  hidden  mean- 
ings there.v  1  hope  I  shall  learn  a  salutary  lesson  from  this 
book.     It  is  a  great  help  to  me  in  instructing  my  class.' 

Of  an  aged  woman  she  writes  to  her  friend  near  Lon- 
don : — '  I  have  both  hope  and  fear  for  her.  She  has  had 
many  sorrows,  but  never  was  so  broken  down  as  by  the 
last  blow.  Yet  I  fear  she  may  drive  away  reflection  by 
bodily  exertion.  She  is  still  bearing  the  burden  and  heat 
of  the  day,  though  with  her  it  is  evening  time.  Oh  !  may 
it  soon  be  light !  Will  you,  dearest,  and  any  other  Christian 
friend  that  you  can  ask,  help  me  to  pray  for  poor  old  P. 
She  can  have  but  short  time  to  stay  ;  and  oh !  how  awful 
will  be  her  account,  if  the  earnest  entreaties  and  lovely 
example  which  were  set  before  her,  and  her  present  sor- 
17* 


198  MEMOIR    OF 

row  pass,  without  being  effectual  means  of  bringing  her  to 
Christ.' 

''July  16.— Typhus  fever  is  still  lingering  among  us. 
One  mother  of  five  children  has  died  of  it,  and  now  the 
father  and  eldest  girl  are  both  ill.  Wo  is  me  for  the  little 
ones  !  Another  Keltic  man  has  it,  and  yesterday  one  of  my 
girls  was  absent  from  class  because  her  mother  has  been 
seized.  Oh  !  that  the  voice  of  the  Lord  might  be  heard  in 
the  awakening  of  dead  souls  by  this  visitation.' 

<  Cleish,  Sept. — We  have  still  a  number  of  cases  of  typhus 
fever  at  Keltic,  principally  among  children.  It  has  lingered 
long  among  us.  Oh  !  that  it  might  act  as  a  warning  voice  ! 
W.  has  just  established  a  missionary  society,  into  which  I 
hope  the  people  will  heartily  enter.' 

<  Oct.  1. — We  have  had  very  fine  weather  for  a  week,  and 
our  people  are  rejoicing  that  harvest,  so  long  retarded  by 
rain  and  cold,  has  come  at  last  under  such  bright  auspices. 
We  long  to  see  them  giving  heartfelt  thanks  for  this  bless- 
ing ;  and  while  they  throng  the  fields  with  busy  cheerful 
looks,  we  say,  "  Oh  !  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord  for 
his  goodness."  He  appeared  in  the  early  season  to  teach 
us  by  judgment,  and  now  that  it  is  turned  into  great  mercy, 
shall  we  not  see  the  hand  that  has  blessed  us  ?  It  is  sad  to 
think  there  be  few  that  fear  the  Lord,  and  yet  I  do  trust 
there  are  many  hidden  ones  of  whom  we  know  not,  and 
who  shall  be  owned  at  last  as  ransomed.  Shall  we  unite 
to  pray  that  such  may  be  strengthened  and  enabled  to  take 
the  field  as  good  soldiers  of  Christ,  that  so  the  church  may 
be  strengthened,  and  the  number  of  those  increased  who 
are  earnest  and  courageous  in  their  endeavours  to  augment 
the  number  of  her  sons.' 

At  the  time  of  the  summer  communion  this  year,  when 
her  health  was  in  so  delicate  a  state  from  her  peculiar  sit- 
uation, that  her  own  attendance  on  the  services  must  have 
exerted  all  her  powers,  she  writes  : — '  We  had  a  comfort- 
able time  at  the  communion.  I  liked  Mr.  M.,  who  preached 
on  "  His  commandments  are  not  grievous,"  drawing  a 
beautiful  contrast  between  fear  and  love,  and  the  kinds  of 
obedience  they  produce.  As  there  was  evening  sermon  on 
the  Sunday,  and  an  interval,  I  was  led  to  ask  many  to  come 
in  and  get  refreshment,  and  I  think  we  were  about  thirty- 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  199 

four  in  all, — parlour,  study,  and  kitchen,  being  well  filled. 
I  felt  sorry  it  was  impossible  to  ask  them  all/ 

Almost  every  letter  quoted  has  exhibited  her  pure  expe- 
rience of  the  pleasures  of  friendship.  To  its  pains  also  she 
was  no  stranger.  The  '  rejoicing  and  weeping  sympathies' 
were  Math  her  as  an  ever-flowing  fountain.  It  were  unwise 
to  number  minutely  the  associates  in  whose  society  she 
was  refreshed  in  her  own  neigbourhood.  But  of  all  their 
kindness  she  had  a  sweet  and  grateful  sense  ;  and  in  all 
their  intercourse,  felt  herself  the  party  obliged  and  bene- 
fited But,  as  her  pilgrim  heart  was  ever  turned  towards 
her  heavenly  home,  it  was  the  one  or  two  whose  visits 
were  taken  advantage  of,  to  unite  in  seeking  the  footstool 
of  mercy,  whose  society  was  prized,  and  whose  return 
was  coveted  most  earnestly.  We  shall  give  scanty  ex- 
tracts from  letters  to  friends  in  various  positions,  which 
exemplify  the  fulness  of  her  love,  and  the  truth  of  her 
sympathy. 

To  a  friend  on  her  family  quiUing  and  selling  the  Family 
Seat. 
'April  1838. — Since  receiving  your  letter,  I  have  had 
my  thoughts  much  filled  with  what  you  tell  me,  and  grieve 
with  you  in  the  changes  that  are  taking  place,  though  I  am 
sure  you  will  have  peace  in  the  sacrifice.  I  know  your 
bitter  feelings,  love,  in  separating  from  the  wild  wood- 
walks,  and  green  fields,  and  all  the  host  of  sweet  associa- 
tions that  are  coeval  with  life  itself.  All  the  summer  ram- 
bles, all  the  evenings  of  peace  in  scenes  so  beautiful  and 
so  beloved  are  past,  and  you  scarcely  dare  to  hope  that  an- 
other spot  on  earth  will  entwine  itself  about  your  heart,  as 
this  dear  home  of  childhood  has  done.  I  can  enter  into 
your  every  feeling  on  the  subject  with  the  painful  correct- 
ness of  one  who  has  felt  the  like  trial  in  all  its  heaviness,  for 
C.  cannot  be  more  dear  to  you  than  my  beautiful  home 
among  woods  and  rivers  was  to  me.  I  was  early  called  to 
leave  it,  when  every  tree  seemed  a  friend  that  could  enter 
into  my  sorrow,  and  every  golden  ripple  of  the  Tweed 
spoke  to  my  heart  of  him  who  loved  to  watch  their  play  ;  but 
the  great  sorrow  was  so  overwhelming  as  to  make  this  seem 
small  indeed.     Your  beloved  parents  are  with  you  still,  and 


200  MEMOIR     OF 

the  pain  of  parting  with  the  place  you  love  is  all  you  are 
called  to  feel.  How  small  compared  with  the  other  !  I 
hope  it  may  be  blessed  in  detaching  your  heart  from  earth, 
and  fixing  its  highest  hopes  on  the  eternal  city.  These 
nests  we  build  for  ourselves  on  earth,  sometimes  delay  our 
heavenward  flight,  and  then  in  mercy  they  are  destroyed, 
that  we  may  fix  our  eyes  there,  and  exert  every  power  to 
win  the  desired  country.' 

To  her  earliest  correspondent  and  ever -beloved  Cousin. 

'  Many  a  time  when  I  am  sitting  alone  in  this  room,  with 
my  books  or  work,  I  long  to  see  you,  and  to  hear  the  sound 
of  your  voice  again,  and  wonder  why  it  is  that  those  who 
love  each  other  should  be  so  completely  separated.  What 
a  great  obstacle  is  a  small  tract  of  country  !  Had  I  the 
wings  of  that  humble  bird,  the  carrier-pigeon,  I  should  be 
with  you  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  yet  all  my  thoughts,  and 
recollections,  and  affections — powers  much  superior  to  that 
of  flying — will  not  bring  me  to  you.  Well,  there  must  be 
a  good  reason  for  it,  or  He  who  careth  for  the  little  birds 
would  have  made  the  gratification  of  our  wishes  easier.  * 
*  *  We  are  enjoying  Melville's  sermons,  which  give  one 
some  new  ideas,  and  throw  light  on  some  passages.  I  trust 
your  mind,  my  dearest  cousin,  is  resting  in  perfect  peace 
on  Jesus  our  sure  refuge.' 

The  announcement  of  a  projected  visit  from  her  London 
school-fellow,  produced  a  flood  of  joy.  We  quote  a  small 
portion  of  her  letter  : — 

'  Last  night,  my  beloved  M.,  your  letter  was  put  into  my 
hands,  and  it  made  me  so  happy  that  I  would  have  answered 
it  instantly,  but  that  I  was  obliged  to  finish  a  piece  of  work. 
So  I  got  rid  of  my  superfluous  effervescence,  by  commit- 
ting to  memory,  while  I  sewed,  a  long  passage  from  my 
favourite  Keble.  Are  you  really  coming  to  us  at  last,  my 
own  dear  friend  ?  Shall  I  have  the  long- wished  for  joy  of 
welcoming  you  here,  and  of  telling  you  how  much  the  seven 
years  that  have  intervened  since  we  met  have  endeared 
you  to  me.  *  *  *  As  for  me,  I  know  that  in  many 
things  you  will  be  disappointed,  for  I  am  sadly  disappointed 
in  myself.  But  I  know  too,  my  kind  friend,  that  you  will 
love  me  still,  and  I  do  not  desire  that  you  should  think  too 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  201 

well  of  me.  *  *  Oh,  M.,  my  heart  is  full !  To  think 
that  we  are  to  meet  again  after  the  changes  of  seven  years 
have  gone  over  us — after  the  receipt  of  so  many  mercies, 
and  so  much  discipline,  is  at  once  joyful  and  solemn.  May 
it  be  to  the  glory  of  our  great  Father!' 

To  a  friend  who  had  formed  a  very  happy  matrimonial 
engagement,  she  wrote  with  the  lively  sympathy  and  the 
meekness  of  wisdom,  which  experience  had  taught : — 

<  Often,  my  M.,  I  think  of  you,  and  of  your  happiness. 
Perhaps  few  periods  of  your  life  will  be  brighter  than  the 
present.  You  are  still  with  your  dear  parent,  from  whom, 
even  in  the  midst  of  joy,  it  will  be  sorrow  to  part ;  and  you 
have  the  devoted  affection  of  one  who  promises  to  watch 
over  your  future  years,  and  to  be  the  friend,  to  whom,  of 
all  on  earth,  you  can  best  open  your  heart,  and  from  whom 
you  will  receive  never-failing  sympathy,  and  counsel,  and 
love.  There  is,  also,  a  degree  of  excitement  produced  by 
the  bright  visitant  ho'pe,  who  hovers  over  you,  and  bids  you 
look  upon  a  sunny  future  ;  and  though  in  this  excitement 
there  may  be  some  illusion,  I  think  we  shall  agree  that  it 
is  delightful.  Marriage,  with  all  its  blessings,  brings  cares, 
and  some  sorrows  and  trials,  too,  dearest,  which  you  know 
not  yet ;  and  it  is  well,  or  we  should  be  too  much  bound  to 
a  world  that  is  but  a  pilgrimage,  and  forget  the  lovely  land 
where  pilgrims  rest.  Let  us  at  all  times  keep  that  in  view, 
and  strive  to  come  nearer  to  it,  and  the  things  of  earth  will 
not  have  the  power  to  exalt  or  cast  us  down  unduly.  *  *  * 
It  must  be  difficult,  and  require  a  good  deal  of  resolution, 
to  prevent  too  much  time  being  occupied  both  in  expecting 
and  receiving  a  guest,  whose  residence  affords  him  every 
facility  for  coming.  There  is  danger  of  being  too  much 
engrossed,  and  living  in  a  sort  of  dream  ;  but  the  safe  and 
only  remedy  for  this  is  to  seek  much  communion  with  God, 
and  to  do  each  duty  as  it  arises  with  stedfast  purpose,  with- 
out admitting  any  of  the  numerous  excuses  that  so  obliging- 
ly offer  themselves  the  instant  their  services  appear  likely 
to  be  accepted.' 

To  her  friend  near  London. 
'  March,  1838. —     *      *      *     i  know  that  the  longest 
silence  will  not  make  you  cease  to  remember  me  in  the  way 


202  MEMOIR     OF 

I  love  best  to  be  remembered, — at  the  throne  of  grace. 
There  you  breathe  my  name,  where  no  sincere  prayer  is 
disregarded,  and  entreat  for  my  soul,  as  well  as  for  your 
own,  the  constant  "  sprinkling  of  the  blood  of  Jesus,"  which 
alone  can  wash  us  from  daily  pollution.  Continue  thus  to 
pray  for  me,  my  own  sweet  friend,  and  I  will  try  to  stir  up 
my  poor  cold  heart  to  more  abundant  supplications  for  you  ; 
and  then  how  happily  shall  we  meet  when  mortality  is 
swallowed  up  of  life,  and  those  who  have  stayed  up  each 
other's  footsteps  in  the  wilderness  shall  rejoice  together, 
clothed  in  everlasting  strength  in  the  new  Jerusalem.  Hap- 
py place  !  Happy  period  !  There  shall  be  no  more  cold- 
ness, no  more  looking  back  to  Sodom,  and  longing  for  its 
deceitful  pleasures,  but  all  the  powers  of  the  soul,  concen- 
trated in  intensest  love  to  Him,  of  whose  glory  and  excel- 
lence we  shall  find  that  "  the  half  hath  not  been  told  us." 
Does  not  every  thing  seem  tinged  with  redeeming  love, 
when  we  think  of  these  things  ?  The  placid  skies,  the 
quiet  earth,  health,  friends,  and  even  the  frequent  crosses 
and  disappointments  that  chequer  our  way,  all  seem  what 
indeed  they  are,  blessings  from  the  hand  of  Him  who  count- 
ed not  his  life  dear  for  our  salvation.  *  *  The  greater 
part  of  our  people  are  four  miles  distant,  and  in  the  snow- 
storm which  has  continued  for  nine  weeks,  they  have  been 
unable  to  attend  church,  and  their  pastor  has  been  able  only 
once  to  get  through  to  them,  so  that  the  people  have  been 
as  sheep  without  a  shepherd,  so  far  as  an  earthly  one  is 
concerned.  But  we  must  be  content  to  leave  them  to  the 
care  of  God,  assured  that  He  loves  them  better  than  we  do. 
I  am  not  so  anxious  for  those  who  are  His  already,  as  for 
the  poor  wanderers  who  refuse  to  hear  his  voice.  Time 
and  hope  fly  fast,  and  whither  are  they  going  ?  But  such 
thoughts  as  these  are  useful  in  one  way.  They  quicken 
prayer,  and  He  to  whom  we  pray,  could,  by  one  thought, 
driven  in  upon  the  conscience,  do  more  for  them  than  all 
the  exhortations  and  entreaties  we  could  offer  in  the  course 
of  years.  It  is  a  difficult,  but  a  most  essential  lesson,  that 
man  can  do  nothing — God  aZ/.' 

To  the  same, 
*  CJeish,  Aug,  1838.—    *     *      *     My  own  F.,  we  are 


MARY    LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  203 

united  by  a  bond  less  perishable  than  that  which  cements 
earthly  friendships,  and  it  is  one  of  my  sweetest  pleasures 
to  think  that  I  have  a  friend  by  whom  I  venture  to  hope  I 
am  daily  remembered  at  the  mercy-seat.  Much  do  I  re- 
quire, and  deeply — deeply  do  I  prize,  such  remembrance. 
So  many  things  demand  my  constant  thought  and  attention, 
that  I  feel  in  great  danger  of  being  drawn  away  from  the 
secret  place  where  prayer  is  made  and  heard.  Perhaps 
something  darts  into  my  mind  that  must  be  done, — a  direc- 
tion to  give,  or  messages  to  send,  or  my  little  darling  cries, 
and  I  cannot  help  running  to  the  nursery  to  take  her,  fearful 
that  her  attendant  is  mismanaging  her  temper.  Can  you, 
my  dear  friend,  with  all  the  quietness  you  enjoy,  enter  into 
this  ?  You  are  sheltered  in  the  bosom  of  a  large  family, 
while  I  am  obliged  to  think,  and  plan,  and  act  continually, 
and  housekeeping  requires  a  good  deal  of  thought  in  the 
country,  far  from  shops,  and  with  out-door  concerns  as  well 
as  those  within.  All  this  may  show  you  how  much  I  re- 
quire your  prayers.  Oh!  do  not  cease  to  entreat  a  blessing 
for  me  and  mine,  even  the  blessing  of  Him  who  dwelt  in 
the  bush.  *  *  *  Have  you  had  converse  with  many 
pious  friends,  who  have  lent  you  a  helping  hand  on  your 
journey  1  This  is  a  refreshment  for  which  I  often  long, 
both  for  my  dear  husband  and  myself ;  but  I  hope  our  Fa- 
ther is  teaching  us  by  the — in  this  respect — almost  solitary 
situation  in  which  we  are  placed,  to  say,  "  All  my  springs 
are  in  Thee"  My  nature  is  to  lean  too  much  to  earthly 
aid,  counsel,  and  teaching,  and  of  this  I  see  I  must  be 
broken  ;  and,  oh  !  that  I  could  feel  how  much  sweeter  it  is 
to  be  taught  by  my  Father  in  heaven,  than  through  any 
earthly  medium.  *  *  *  Mary  ran  out  of  her  maid's 
arms  ten  days  ago.  It  was  her  first  attempt  to  walk  alone, 
and  I  could  not  have  imagined  how  very  joyful  the  sight 
would  be.  Oh!  to  be  enabled  to  train  up  this  treasured 
one  for  God,  to  see  her  walking  in  the  safe  and  pleasant 
way  to  Zion,  and,  from  infancy,  a  lamb  resting  in  her  Shep- 
herd's arms.  Do  give  this  dear  one  a  frequent  place  in  your 
prayers.' 

The  above  reference  to  house-keeping  cares,  and  their 
disturbing  effect  on  her  higher  pursuits,  brings  to  mind  the 
unflinching  assiduity  with  which  she  pursued  her  domestic 


204  MEMOIR    OF 

arrangements,  never  excusing  herself  on  the  score  of  illness, 
and  even  taking  charge  of  out-door  concerns,  when  she 
found  that  they  would  be  neglected  if  she  did  not.  Some 
persons  have  a  genius  for  managing  ;  they  are  in  their  ele- 
ment when  the  gardener,  and  the  ploughman,  and  the  cook, 
and  the  house-maid,  are  all  waiting  their  instructions.  It 
required  but  to  see  Mary,  and  hear  her  gentle  melodious 
tones,  to  be  aware  that  this  element  was  not  hers.  Mental 
cultivation,  the  muse,  converse  with  the  intelligent,  works  of 
tasie,  and  acts  of  benevolence, — these  were  her  elements. 
But  while  all  saw  her  apply  herself  strenuously  to  the  occu- 
pations that  she  loved  not,  no  one  ever  heard  her  complain, 
except  from  the  embarrassment  of  mind  which  threatened 
to  impede  her  spiritual  progress. 

Her  method  of  receiving  rebuke  is  scarcely  known,  for 
few  have  lived  and  given  so  little  occasion  for  it.  But  one 
example  exists,  which  bears  so  much  the  mark  of  Christian 
meekness,  and  desire  to  conquer  every  evil,  that  it  must  not 
be  passed  over.  She  had  been  much  hurried  in  providing 
for  the  wants  of  her  household,  while  on  a  brief  visit  to 
Edinburgh,  in  the  summer,  and  was  in  that  condition, 
which  reduces  the  meek  and  placid  frequently  to  a  state  of 
irritability.  Some  token  of  this  state  of  things, — so  slight 
that  itself  and  the  rebuke  it  produced  had  both  passed  from 
the  memory  of  the  reprover, — was  thus  noticed  by  herself, 
in  writing,  after  she  had  returned  home  : — 

*  Your  remark  on  Thursday,  about  my  impatience,  my 
dear  mother,  I  hope,  is  doing  me  good.  I  did  not  answer, 
but  it  sunk  deep,  and  has  showed  me  to  myself  in  some 
degree.  I  desire  to  watch  against  it,  and  to  cultivate  a 
meek  and  quiet  spirit ;  and  oh  !  when  it  overtakes  me,  may 
it  humble  me,  and  lead  me  to  prayer.  My  error  has  been 
too  great  confidence  in  the  equality  of  my  temper  ;  and, 
therefore,  being  off  the  watch-tower,  it  is  not  wonderful 
that  I  have  been  surprised.  Care,  responsibility,  and  other 
causes,  have  helped  to  produce  the  same  effect ;  but  I  hope 
I  shall  receive  "  help  from  the  sanctuary,"  to  overcome  it. 
It  is  a  grief  to  me  to  think  that  I  may  have  spoken  hasty 
words.     Will  you  tell  me  that  I  am  forgiven  V 

Another  extract  from  a  letter  to  that  highly  esteemed 
friend,  whose  image  dwelt  in  her  admiring  affection,  and 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  205 

whose  Christian  fellowship  and  prayers  quickened  her  de- 
votion, and  cheered  her  confidence,  forms  a  conclusive  evi- 
dence of  the  growth  of  love,  both  human  and  divine,  in  her 
heart. 

To  her  friend  near  London, 

'  Oct.  I,  1838.—*  *  However  I  am  occupied,  my  heart 
is  never  so  much  so  as  to  trench  on  the  portion  of  it,  that 
has  long  been  yours.  How  refreshing  it  would  be  to  see 
you  again  !  The  dear  form  that  is  as  distinct  in  my  mind, 
as  if  I  had  parted  from  you  but  yesterday,  and  the  voice  that 
has  so  often  spoken  to  me  from  afar,  assisting  me  onward 
when  weary,  and  arousing  me  when  my  course  has  become 
slow  and  spiritless.  That  voice  I  still  hear  from  time  to 
time,  and  enjoy  it  as  much  as  absence  and  distance  will 
permit — and  this  is  one  of  the  blessings  for  which  I  thank 
the  Giver  of  all  good.  I  long  to  profit  by  its  admonitions, 
and  being  thus  reminded  of  my  union  with  all  the  family  of 
Christ  scattered  abroad  on  the  earth,  to  become  more  like 
them,  and  grow  in  all  that  characterizes  them,  and  fits  them 
for  His  own  presence  above. 

'  I  can  most  deeply  sympathize  in  what  you  say  of  temp- 
tation to  lifelessness  in  closet  duties,  want  of  warmth  and 
vigour  in  approaching  God,  and  dependence  on  outward 
help  for  reviving  the  spirituality  of  the  soul.  Alas  !  how 
often  have  I  to  mourn  these  things  !  I  find  that  when  I  am 
hurried  in  closet  duties,  all  other  things  droop  and  languish, 
and  the  tares  spring  up  thick  and  fast,  where  the  heavenly 
husbandman  had  planted  wheat.  There  1  seem  to  have 
fewer  wants,  and  less  to  ask  for.  The  world  looks  larger 
and  more  important,  and  the  bright  light  that  cheered  Pil- 
grim at  the  end  of  the  narrow  way,  grows  pale  and  dim. 
*  *  I  sometimes  long  for  a  little  of  the  intercourse  I 
used  to  find  so  reviving  in  former  times,  and  think  it  would 
quicken  me  greatly  ;  but  had  my  heavenly  Father  seen 
this  good  for  me,  it  would  not  have  been  denied  me.  There- 
fore, I  must  beware  how  I  charge  my  coldness  on  circum- 
stances ;  such  excuses  do  not  stand  before  one  season  of 
self-examination,  much  less  will  they  be  availing  at  the 
awful  bar,  where,  under  the  all-searching  eye,  we  shall  be 
unable  to  see  things  but  in  their  true  light.  Ah  !  how  un- 
18 


206  MEMOIR     OF 

duly  do  I  estimate  many  things!  Sometimes,  dear  F.,  I 
almost  fear  to  tell  you,  and  yet  God  knows  it  all.  Daily 
remember  me  when  you  enter  into  your  closet,  my  beloved 
one,  and  quicken  me  to  dwell  more  in  mine  by  telling  me 
of  the  happiness  you  are  sometimes  permitted  to  enjoy,  and 
of  your  struggles  to  obtain  it  when  it  is  withdrawn.  I 
know  a  time  of  quietness  must  come  ere  long,  when  I  shall 
be  unable  to  engage  in  active  duties,  and  when,  if  my  dear 
mamma  can  come  to  me,  I  shall  be  relieved  from  anxiety — 
and  I  trust  this  may  be  a  time  of  love,  and  that  my  soul 
may  be  strengthened  thereby,  and  greatly  drawn  to  my  Sa- 
viour ;  but  1  long  to  be  nearer  Him  now,  to  make  His  law 
my  delight,  and  to  listen  for  the  whispers  of  His  voice. 
Oh !  that  1  could  live  in  closer  union  with  Christ  now,  and 
read  my  title  more  clearly  to  the  holy  mansions  prepared 
for  the  faithful  followers  of  Jesus,  without  a  doubt,  or  a 
Mdsh  for  an  hour  of  delay.  His  grace  is  sufficiency  for  me, 
and  I  know  when  I  feel  a  lack  of  any  thing,  it  is  because 
my  own  heart  cannot  receive,  what  He  is  ever  willing  to 
impart.  But  in  all  times,  if  He  but  permit  me  to  cling  to 
Him,  I  cannot  perish.  Oh  !  is  it  not  cheering,  when  every 
other  enjoyment  is  low,  and  faith  is  weak  and  trembling,  to 
return  to  this,  and  to  resolve  that  let  the  waves  arise  to  their 
utmost  height,  still  we  will  cling  to  Jesus,  and  while  we  are 
all  worthless  and  unclean,  present  Him  his  own  spotless 
righteousness  as  our  plea  of  approach,  and  thus  He  cannot, 
and  will  not,  reject  us.  There  is  no  such  friend  as  Jesus. 
The  more  worthless  we  feel  ourselves  to  be,  the  more  He 
adorns  us  with  His  pure  robe  ;  the  more  feeble  and  unable 
to  cling,  the  more  He  helps  our  infirmities  and  binds  us  to 
Himself,  so  that  our  weakness  becomes  the  cause  of  an  in- 
crease of  strength;  and  when  we  would  leave  Him,  attract- 
ed by  some  fair  and  deceitful  bait,  He  speaks  to  us  in  the 
tones  of  pitying  love.  "  How  shall  I  give  thee  up  Ephraim  ? 
How  shall  I  make  thee  as  Admah, — how  shall  I  set  thee 
as  Zeboim?"  Sweet  words  !  often  have  they  recalled  the 
wanderer,  and  made  him  come  with  weeping  and  with  sup- 
plications to  the  foot  of  the  cross.  Tliere  let  us  often  meet 
my  own  friend,  and  so  shall  our  faith  be  strengthened,  and 
we  shall  gain  a  nearer  sight  of  the  land  where  the  cross  is 
exchanged  for  a  crown,  and  faint  glimpses  of  our  Saviour's 


MARY  LUNDIE  DUNCAN.  207 

beauty  for  His  immediate  presence,  without  one   shade  of 
sin  to  hide  Him  from  us. 

*  I  have  been  enjoying  Bhmt's  Lectures  on  the  Epistles 
to  the  Seven  Churches  of  Asia.  How  much  is  to  be  learn- 
ed from  that  portion  of  Scripture,  how  plain  are  the  warn- 
ings, how  kind  the  invitations,  and  of  what  boundless  ex- 
tent the  kingly  promises.' 


208  MEMOIR     OF 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    MUSE    RECALLED A    SON    GIVEN TWO    BROTHERS 

WITHDRAWN. 

The  poetical  efforts,  which  in  early  youth  were  numer- 
ous, became  restrained  during  the  first  period  of  woman- 
hood. In  a  letter  not  now  within  reach,  she  explains  the 
reason  : — Miss  Isa.  Gordon,  who  had  observed  the  cast  of 
her  mind  with  intelligence  and  solicitude,  far  from  uniting 
her  voice  to  that  of  the  friends  who  commended  her  poetry, 
and  applauded  her  pursuit  of  it,  '  unstrung  her  lyre,'  as  she 
said  by  judicious  criticism,  and  cautions  against  dwelling 
too  much  in  the  region  of  fancy,  and  consuming  time  and 
talents,  which  ought  to  be  employed  in  more  substantial 
acquirements.  It  was  not  till  her  country  residence  left  a 
little  leisure,  which  in  other  circumstances  might  have  been 
enlivened  by  society,  that  she  seemed  again  to  repjace  the 
chords  of  her  lyre,  and  to  touch  them  frequently  in  varied 
tones.  We  cannot  fail  to  remark,  that,  however  she  de- 
lighted in  inviting  her  friends  to  ascend  Benarty,  and  how- 
ever zealously  she  toiled  to  the  rugged  summit  of  Dumgiow, 
— however  she  rejoiced,  from  these  airy  heights,  to  explore 
the  Grampians  on  the  horizon  line,  or  the  lofty  Lomonds, 
with  the  placid  Loch  Leven  sleeping  at  their  feet,  with  its 
isle  and  its  ruin,  fraught  with  recollections  of  the  unhappy 
Mary  Stuart, — and  however  much  she  was  familiarized  to 
those  scenes  which  bad  become  associated  with  many  of 
her  heart's  best  sentiments, — yet,  if  the  muse  was  to  be  re- 
called, if  the  spirit  of  poetry  was  to  be  evoked,  it  was  to 
'  Tweed's  familiar  shore,'  to  the  genius  of  her  father,  and 
the  realm  of  imagination,  dedicated  in  the  hours  and  scenes 
of  childhood,  that  her  spirit  turned. 

In  the  summer  of  this  year,  we  find  a  poem,  too  long  for 
complete  insertion,  a  portion  of  which  shall  be  presented. 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  209 


THE    MUSE    RECALLED. 


Full  many  a  toilsome  day  has  past, 
And  many  a  cloud  my  sky  o'ercast, 

Since  those  bright  hours  went  by ; 
When,  listening,  nature's  voice  was  mute, 
And  echo  heard  the  breathing  lute. 

And  murmured  in  reply. 

Yet,  'mid  the  tasks  that  life  engage, 
The  cares  that  wait  on  riper  age. 

And  time  and  spirit  fill, 
Back  to  the  past  my  feelings  tend. 
And  thou,  the  muse,  my  childhood's  friend, 

I  fondly  love  thee  still. 
*  *  *  *       ' 

Say,  for  thy  child — a  wanderer  long 
From  all  the  lovely  realms  of  song, — 

Wilt  thou  again  appear  1 
Exiled  from  Tweed's  familiar  shore, 
From  joys  that  can  be  mine  no  more, 

Wilt  thou  my  spirit  cheer  1 

Strike  thy  sweet  lyre,  and  let  the  strain 
llevisit  Judah's  mourning  plain, 

And  Jordan's  sacred  wave  ; 
The  stately  hills,  with  cedar  crowned, 
The  fallen  shrines,  with  roses  bound, 

And  Salem's  mouldering  grave. 

Then  of  that  better  Salem  sing. 
Where  holy  joys  perennial  spring, 

The  city  paved  with  love  ; 
Where  never  day  is  closed  in  night, 
Or  cloud  obscures  the  holy  light 

That  fills  the  land  above. 

Visit  the  fields  where  David  strayed, 
Leading  his  flock  in  palmy  shade, 

And  hymning  praise  on  high  ; 
And  learn  in  anthems  clear  to  sing. 
That  nobler,  meeker  Shepherd  King, 

Who  for  his  sheep  could  die, 

M.  L.  D.' 

At.  the  close  of  this  year,  she  was  again  expecting  to  add 
another  member  to  the  large  family  on  earth.  Solemn  are 
the  sentiments  which  press  on  the  heart  of  a  Christian  pa- 

18* 


210 


M  E  I\I  0  I  R      OF 


rent  at  such'a  prospect.  '  Yesterday  that  child  was  nothing ; 
but  when  will  it  cease  to  be  ?  Never  !  Immortality  is  writ- 
ten upon  it,  and  the  inscription  is  indelible,  for  it  was  trac- 
ed by  the  finger  of  God.  The  mind  has  but  begun  its  play  ; 
its  instincts  and  its  faculties  but  now  move  with  incipient 
life.  Even  dull  and  worthless  matter  is  of  older  date. 
"  Of  old  didst  thou  lay  the  foundations  of  the  earth."  Ages 
of  its  history  had  passed  before  it  was  said  of  him,  "  A 
child  is  born  into  the  world."  History  will  continue  its 
annals,  matter  its  combinations,  the  heavens  their  course  ; 
but  he  shall  survive  them  all !  !'* 

With  such  thoughts  of  the  birth  of  an  immortal  being, 
she  besought  the  aid  of  supplication  for  her  increasing  ob- 
jects of  solicitude,  on  the  part  of  her  friend ;  at  the  same 
time,  steadily  considering  the  probability  that  this  period 
might  form  the  termination  of  her  pilgrimage. 

To  her  friend  near  London. 
*  Dec.  28,  1838. — I  commit  you  to  the  tender  mercy  of 
Him  who  never  forsakes  his  own,  believing  that  he  will 
surely  order  all  things  concerning  you  for  good.  Ah !  how 
much  I  should  value  one  hour's  converse  with  you,  ere  my 
hour  of  trial  comes.  I  feel  as  if  it  would  tend  to  strengthen 
my  faith  and  courage,  and  be  unspeakably  refreshing.  But 
you  would  refer  me  to  the  only  quarter,  "  whence  cometh  my 
help,"  and  tell  me  to  give  greater  diligence  to  seek  it  there. 
I  have  been  trying  to  look  straight  to  Him,  and  to  keep  in 
their  own  place  those  subordinate  and  human  helps,  to 
which  my  heart  is  so  prone  to  cling.  These  are  precious, 
and  oh,  how  essential  to  our  weakness  !  but  it  is  He  who 
gives  them  ;  they  are  but  an  expression  of  his  love, — a  love 
which  is  unfathomable  and  unwearied,  and  which  will  sup- 
port to  the  uttermost  those  who  are  stayed  on  it.  I  wish  I 
could  realize  it  more  ;  keenly  alive,  as  we  are,  to  the  affec- 
tion of  friends,  to  a  look  or  word  of  kindness,  or  to  one  act 
of  self-denying  love  from  them,  how  is  it  that  the  love  of 
God  in  Christ  is  so  slow  to  win  its  way  to  our  souls?  It 
is  expressed  in  all  that  is  around  us,  even  in  vexation,  anx- 
iety, sickness,  or  pain,  which  are  sure  tokens  that  He  does 

*  Rev.  R.  Watson. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  211 

not  forget  us,  but  deals  with  us  as  with  sons.  And  would 
it  not  make  these  things  easy  to  endure,  could  we,  at  the 
time  of  suffering  them,  view  them  in  connexion  with  that 
love,  ever  strengthening  our  minds  by  the  remembrance  of 
Him  who  endured  all  kinds  of  trials  in  their  heaviest  forms, 
because  he  loved  us  ?  It  is  ease  and  rest  indeed  to  cast 
our  burden  upon  Him^  and  never  does  he  refuse  to  bear  it 
for  us.  I  hope,  dearest  F.,  that  you  are  praying  for  me, 
and  that  you  will  do  so  yet  more  and  more.  Remember, 
as  my  ties  to  life  multiply,  I  have  more  need  for  your  pray- 
ers on  my  own  behalf  and  theirs.  Have  you  not  prayed 
often  for  my  dear  little  Mary,  that  she  may  be  a  lamb  of 
the  fold,  precious  in  the  sight  of  the  tender  Shepherd? 
And  will  you  not  abound  in  supplications  for  all  of  us,  that 
we  may  be  thoroughly  washed,  and  made  meet  for  the  land 
where  all  is  purity,  and  nothing  that  is  unholy  can  enter  ? 
Now,  dearest  F.,  farewell.  Whether  life  or  death  be  ap- 
pointed, may  we  soon  meet  where  there  is  no  parting,  and 
no  sin  P 

Diary. — '  Dec.  1838. — I  have  the  near  prospect  of  being 
mother  of  a  second  babe.  I  pray  for  grace  to  bear  my 
trial  as  a  child  of  God,  in  patience  and  willingness  to 
suffer  according  to  his  will.  I  was  rebellious  the  last  time, 
and  bore  the  pain,  not  because  God  sent  it,  but  because  I 
could  not  escape  it.     May  it  be  different  now  ? 

"  His  love  in  time  past  forbids  me  to  think, 
He'll  leave  me  at  last  in  peril  to  sink." 

"  When  I  pass  through  the  waters.  He  will  be  with  me." 
His  exceeding  great  and  precious  promises  encourage  me 
to  hope  and  enable  me  to  cling,  though  weaker  than  a 
child,  to  the  cross,  which  rises,  as  my  prop  and  stay,  amid 
these  deep  waters.  If  it  should  be  the  will  of  God  that 
these  should  prove  for  me  the  waters  of  the  Jordan,  still  he 
has  said,  "  I  will  never  leave  nor  forsake  thee."  Often  my 
faithless  heart  has  forsaken  Him — been  occupied  with  crea- 
ture affections,  with  worldly  cares,  or  with  the  too  engross- 
ing pleasures  of  imagination,  or  sloth  has  prevailed  and 
made  me  forget  that  the  time  is  short  wherein  I  may  do  my 
Master's  work.     I  have  but  a  life  of  leaves  with  very  little 


212  M  E  M  0  I  R     0  F 

fruit,  and  yet  my  Saviour  would  willingly  work  in  me  the 
same  fair  fruits  that  have  adorned  his  most  favoured 
children.  Shall  he  have  to  say  to  me,  "  and  thou  wouldst 
not?"  Beloved  Saviour,  I  entreat  thee  to  mould  my  spirit 
as  entirely  to  thy  pleasure  as  thou  didst  my  frame  at  first. 
Let  me  feel  thee  near,  and  be  thou  to  me  the  chief  among 
ten  thousand.  When  I  see  thee  face  to  face,  I  shall  love 
thee  as  I  ought,  and  rejoice,  being  satisfied  with  thy  like- 
ness. Till  then,  oh  !  for  a  more  prayerful  spirit,  and  more 
zeal  to  work — more  grace  in  my  heart,  to  hallow  my 
converse  with' 

Here  terminates  the  diary.  Her  designs  are  recorded  in 
His  presence,  '  who  formed  the  wind  and  knoweth  man's 
thought.'  She  is  satisfied,  serving  Him  as  she  ought,  and 
seeing  His  perfect  likeness.  And  the  little  book  ;  the 
sacredly  hoarded  diary  ?  it  is  vain  to  search  its  remaining 
unstained  leaves  ;  not  a  comma  is  added. 

Her  son  was  born  on  the  7th  January,  1839;  a  day 
memorable  for  extensive  storms,  which,  in  one  circle  of 
their  desolating  course,  assumed  the  character  of  a  hur- 
ricane. Her  spirits  were  tranquil  and  patient,  and  her 
grateful  love  was  like  a  flood  that  would  overflow  its  banks 
during  her  recovery.  Her  mind  was  active  beyond 
her  strength,  so  that  it  was  sometimes  necessary  to 
decline  reading  to  her  ;  and  her  happy  nurses  denied  them- 
selves, in  trying  to  avoid  exciting  her  too  much.  They 
were  led  to  smile,  however,  at  their  futile  caution,  on  dis- 
covering that,  instead  of  resting  and  '  thinking  of  nothing,' 
she  had  woven  a  poem  of  many  stanzas,  from  a  story  which 
was  read  to  her  from  Todd's  Sabbath  School  Teacher. 
The  story  was  that  of  a  German  family  settled  in  Pennsylva- 
nia, whose  dwelling  was,  during  the  war  of  1754,  burned, 
when  several  members  of  the  family  were  slain ;  but  one 
girl,  'Regina,'  was  carried  captive,  and  dwelt,  for  ten 
long  years,  in  bondage  with  a  tribe  of  Indians  ;  she  pre- 
served in  memory,  the  while,  the  text  of  Scripture  which  her 
parents  had  taught  her,  and  one  hymn  which  she  often  re- 
peated or  sung.  At  length  an  English  oflicer  reached  the 
place  of  their  captivity,  and  rescued  upwards  of  four  hun- 
dred white  captives.  He  brought  them  to  Carlisle,  and  in- 
vited  all  parents,  who  had  lost  children  to  claim  their  lost. 


MARY     L  U  N  D  I  E     DUNCAN.  2l3 

The  mother  of  Regina  went  up  and  down  gazing  at  the 
captives  and  weeping,  unable  to  discover  her  own ;  at 
length  she  raised  the  hymn  which  she  used  to  sing  to  her 
children.  Scarcely  had  she  sung  two  lines,  when  Regina 
rushed  from  the  crowd,  singing  it  also,  and  threw  herself  in- 
to her  mother's  arms. 

From  this  anecdote  versified,  we  select  a  few  stanzas. 
They  were  dictated  to,  and  written  by,  her  sister,  by  the 
side  of  her  couch,  in  number  sometimes  of  five  or  six  at 
once. 

'  There  are  many  voices  on  the  gale, 
There  are  wild  strange  forms  in  the  peopled  vale  ; 
They  are  captives  from  Indian  bondage  led, 
Whom  friends  have  forgot  or  mourned  as  dead  ; 
And  a  throng,  with  their  hopes  to  frenzy  tossed, 
Have  come  to  search  for  their  loved  and  lost. 
Ah  !  many  a  heart  that  beat  high  that  morn, 
From  the  search  at  night  must  shrink  forlorn. 

*****  S(. 

And  one  with  sad  and  wistful  gazje, 
Is  passing  slow  through  the  crowded  maze  ; 
But  to  blooming  woman  her  child  is  sprung. 
And  with  Indian  garb  and  Indian  tongue 
She  cannot  trace  her,  though  standing  nigh. 
Must  they  part,  unknown  to  live — to  die  1 
No  !   God  is  faithful,  the  promise  sweet 
To  those  who  trust  it,  and  they  shall  meet. 

At  length  was  a  thought  by  heaven  inspired, — 

"With  sudden  hope  is  her  wan  cheek  fired  ; 

She  raises  the  hymn  of  melody 

She  sung  with  her  babes  in  years  gone  by. 

The  lost  one  hears — "tis  the  well-known  strain 

That  has  soothed  her  oft  in  her  lone  heart's  pain  ; — 

She  lists,  she  trembles  with  glad  surprise, 

To  her  mother's  bosom  Regina  flies. 

****♦♦ 

That  mother  had  laid  her  babes  to  rest. 
In  their  earliest  hours,  on  the  Saviour's  breast : 
She  had  sown  good  seed  and  had  feared  it  dead, 
But  the  Lord  of  the  harvest  His  sunshine  shed, 
And  one  of  her  lost  was  restored  again, 
By  the  mem'ry  of  Zion's  sacred  strain  ; 
How  high  shall  their  grateful  praises  swell. 
When  to  earth  and  time  they  have  bid  farewell ! 
January,  1839.  M.  L.  D.' 


214  MEMOIROF 

A  letter  to  her  London  school -fellow  will  relate,  hi  her 
own  manner,  the  furnace  of  trial  both  of  the  heart  and  the 
weary  frame,  in  which  it  pleased  her  heavenly  Father  to 
place  her  during  the  winter  months.  It  is  the  more  im- 
portant to  exhibit  this,  because  her  constitution  never  over- 
came the  shock  it  then  received,  and  because  her  expecta- 
tion of  temporal  rest,  though  never  lively,  w^as  so  much 
Aveakened,  that  her  pilgrim  staff  was  assumed  with  a  more 
resolute  hand,  and  she  addressed  herself  more  determinedly 
to  the  simple  performance  of  duty,  feelmg  all  things  vain 
that  had  no  spiritual  bearing,  and  '  looking  for,  and  hasten- 
ing unto,  the  coming  of  the  Lord.' 

'  CI eish,  February  27,  1839.-—  *  *  *  This  has  been 
to  me  a  winter  of  many  events,  many  anxieties  and  con- 
stant occupation.  How  it  would  have  cheered  me  some- 
times, when  my  heart  was  overwhelmed,  could  I  have 
poured  it  out  to  you,  and  been  pointed  by  you  to  the  conso- 
lations which  I  ever  found  street,  but  which  were  sometimes 
obscured  by  sufferings  of  various  kinds.  I  must  try  to  give 
you  a  history  of  the  winter — scenes  from  real  life,  dearest, 
while  you  are  enjoying  life's  brightest  dream.  *  *  * 
When  I  was  weary,  and  not  able  to  do  much,  my  dear  little 
sister  was  most  helpful,  as  well  as  kind  and  cheering  ;  and, 
after  mamma  joined  us,  we  had  a  fortnight  of  quiet  enjoy- 
ment, before  our  troubles  began.     Ah,  M ,  dear,  it  is  a 

blessing  to  have  a  mother  ;  no  words  can  express  Avhat 
mine  has  done  for  me  all  my  life  through  ! 

'  At  the  close  of  the  year,  Cornelius  came  to  pass  a  few 
days  with  us,  when  he  was  seized  with  the  most  serious 
illness  he  had  ever  known.  But  our  God  was  merciful  to 
us,  and  he  recovered.  The  6th  of  January  was  a  Sabbath, 
and  I  read  to  my  invalid  brother,  while  the  family  were  at 
church.  That  night  the  wind  blew  a  hurricane,  and  the 
snow  fell  thick  and  fast,  and  that  was  the  night  selected 
for  my  little  Harry  to  come  and  make  trial  of  the  world, 
and  to  bring  people  from  their  warm  repose  to  succour  him 
and  his  poor  mamma.  I  did  not  regain  strength  fast,  nor, 
indeed,  do  I  feel  by  any  means  strong  yet.  I  had  some 
pleasant  hours  when  on  the  bed  of  sickness  ;  many  sweet 
promises  were  brought  to  my  mind,  and  I  felt  the  richness 
and  complete  efficacy  of  the  divine  word,  as  well  as   its 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  2l5 

imchangeable  truth.  There  is  sometimes  great  enjoyment 
and  profit  in  being  taken  aside  for  a  season  from  the  world 
and  its  daily  round  of  duties  and  cares,  and  laid  in  stillness 
and  weakness  to  remember  Him  whose  sufferings  pur- 
chased all  our  blessings.  I  passed  some  weary  nights  of 
feverish  tossings,  but  sought  to  follow  the  example  of  the 
sweet  singer  of  Israel,  and  meditate  -on  my  Saviour  in  the 
night  watches.  When  baby  was  a  week  old,  my  poor  little 
Mary  became  ill.  She  endured,  great  pain,  and  screamed 
at  times  from  terror  of  necessary  remedies,  which  was  pain- 
ful to  every  one,  and  as  much  as  my  nerves  could  well  en- 
dure.    She  was  very  feverish,  &c.     *     *     * 

'  Before  she  recovered,  mamma  left  us.  It  was  hard  to 
part  with  her,  and  resume  house-keeping,  while  scarcely 
able  ;  but  this  would  have  been  Httle,  if  Mary  had  been 
Avell.  She  became  worse,  and  for  one  day,  I  thought  the 
Friend  of  little  children  was  going  to  call  her  to  a  better 
world.  Oh,  my  M.,  you  will  never  understand  the  ago- 
ny of  such  a  day,  unless  you  are  some  time  a  mother  ! 
But,  though  tried,  we  were  spared  ;  the  rod  was  raised 
over  us,  and  then  graciously  withdrawn.  Medical  treat- 
ment  was  made  the  means  of  restoring  our  darling  to  health; 
and  now,  though  she  cannot  go  out,  she  keeps  us  lively 
with  her  prattle.  I  live  a  good  deal  in  the  nursery  now  : 
and  when  my  babes  are  well,  it  is  a  ha'ppy  life.  While  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  sickness,  the  cook  burnt  her  foot,  and 
was  incapacitated  ;  so  that  I  have  had  my  hands  and  heart 
full  this  winter.  My  sister  was  unexpectedly  called  from 
me,  to  go  home  with  George,  the  beloved,  who  is  ill.  They 
hid  it  from  us,  because  we  had  already  so  much  to  do  and 
bear.  His  medical  advisers  have  prescribed  an  immediate 
change  to  a  warmer  climate,  and  have  consented  to  his  going 
to  Australia  with  his  brother,  where  the  climate  is  delightful. 
Oh,  may  it  be  blessed  to  his  restoration !  Oh,  it  is  sad  to 
part  with  two  dear  brothers,  to  the  distance  of  half  the  globe, 
and  one  of  them  an  invalid  !  The  God  of  their  fathers  will 
be  their  guide.  G.  writes  in  a  sweet  frame  of  mind,  seri- 
ously desiring  to  glorify  God  in  every  clime  and  situation. 
I,  alas,  shall  not  see  my  brother  ere  he  leaves  Britain.' 

The  departure  of  both  brothers,  without  her  having  the 
mournful  pleasure  of  saying  farewell  to  either  of  them, 


216  M  E  I»l  0  I  R     O  P 

dwelt  much  on  her  mmd,  as  a  purposed  and  subduing  disci- 
pline from  the  hand  of  her  heavenly  Father.  It  was  to 
her  tender  spirit  a  heavy  aggravation  to  the  trial  of  their 
departure  ;  but  was  met  with  resignation.  She  did  not 
fret  nor  murmur,  but  felt  with  Madame  de  Guion : — 

'  Wishing  fits  not  thy  condition, 
Acquiescence  suits  thee  best.' 

Her  letters  are  much  occupied  on  this  subject  at  the  pe- 
riod. One  passage,  showing  from  what  hopes  she  derived 
resignation,  is  the  only  one  we  can  quote. 

*  I  remember  the  happy  days  of  childhood, — gone  for 
ever, — when  we  were  all  united,  as  we  likely  never  shall 
again  be  in  this  world.  But  this  thought  makes  heaven 
look  lovelier, 

"  When  I  arrive  on  yonder  shore, 
There  shall  be  cahn  enough  for  me." 

'  These  lines  are  seldom  out  of  my  mind  ;  and,  I  trust, 
every  one  belonging  to  us  will  be  gathered  where  there  is 
no  parting,  but  perfect  union  of  spirit  in  the  praise  of  Jesus.' 

Longing  that  each  might  derive  profit  from  the  dispensa- 
tion, and  willing  to  gather  the  fragments  of  consolation,  she 
addressed  her  third  brother  : — '  I  often  think  of  you  now, 
deprived  of  both  our  dear  brothers,  and  of  the  pleasant  pros- 
pect of  living  with  George  while  at  college,  and  having  his 
good  advice  and  example.  But,  my  dear  R.,  there  is  One 
who  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother ;  and  if  you  seek  and 
find  him.  He  can  never  leave  you.  I  hope  you  will  make 
this  time,  when  your  dear  brothers  leave  you,  the  time  for 

seeking  that  best  of  all  friends.      He  is  waiting  with  a  heart 

.  .  . 

full  of  love  to  receive  you  ; — if  you  only  seek  Him  with 

all  your  heart,  He  will  not  keep  you  waiting.  Oh  R.,  does 
not  the  agony  our  Saviour  bore  for  us,  show  you  how  much 
he  loves  us.  And  can  any  of  the  trifles  of  this  fast  passing 
world  make  up  for  that  peace  which  passelh  all  understand- 
ing, and  which  lasts  for  ever  ?  The  days  are  gone  when 
we  were  all  together  and  happy  at  Kelso ;  but  there  is  a 
better  home  where  I  hope  we  shall  all  meet  again.  You 
would  be  amused  to  see  your  niece  now, — she  is  full  of  fun 
and  joy.  She  makes  me  smile  sometimes,  when  I  cannot 
smile  about  other  thinos.     How  should  1 1    Georgfe  so  un- 


MARY    LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  217 

well,  and  both  going  so  far  !  Write  when  you  can  to  your 
ever  affectionate  sister  Mary.' 

Among  George's  papers  left  behind  is  one  letter  from 
his  sister. 

'  Cleish,  February  20,  1839. — I  cannot  tell  you,  my  be- 
loved brother,  the  many  anxieties  that  have  filled  my  heart 
for  you,  since  we  heard  of  your  present  state  and  prospects. 
You  are  going  with  Corie  to  the  far  country  where  we  shall 
no  more  be  near  you.  But  oh  !  if  it  is  blessed  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  your  health,  how  joyfully  shall  we  look  on  the 
separation  that  grieves  us  now.  I  am  much  distressed 
that  your  native  clime  is  too  stern  for  you  ;  but  God  will 
be  the  guide  of  your  way,  and  will,  I  trust,  make  a  pleasant 
home  for  you  in  the  wilderness,  as  long  as  it  is  His  pleasure 
to  continue  there.  May  you  be  able  to  say  with  Madam 
de  Guion  ; — 

"  I  can  be  calm  and  free  from  care 
On  any  shore,  since  God  is  there." 

'  You  must  help  each  other  to  run  in  the  heavenly  way. 
You  can  do  that  as  well  in  Australia  as  here.  The  ear  of 
the  hearer  of  prayer  is  as  open  to  the  suppliant  there,  as  in 
this  land  of  privilege.  He  is  himself  the  fountain  of  bless- 
ing, and  sometimes  gives  it  in  the  greatest  abundance,  when 
he  has  made  us  feel  that  we  have  little  outward  help.  He 
puts  the  means,  that  we  are  so  apt  to  rest  in,  out  of  reach, 
that  we  may  look  straight  up  to  Him  ;  and  when  we  do 
this,  what  showers  of  grace  and  comfort  does  He  pour  into 
the  heart !  He  shows  us  what  a  God  of  love  and  mercy 
He  is,  and  how  safe  we  are,  amid  the  many  slippery  places 
and  weary  steps  of  our  journey,  walking  in  His  light,  and 
resting  under  His  shadow.  He  is  weakening  your  strength 
in  the  way,  my  dear  brother,  that  you  may  lean,  more  un- 
dividedly,  on  Him  who  is  strong  to  save.  He  is  changing 
the  plan  we  all  loved  to  think  of,  that  of  your  soon  being  a 
messenger  of  glad  tidings,  a  shepherd  of  the  flock  of  Jesus. 
But  I  trust  it  is,  that  you  may  see  more  of  the  glory  and 
beauty  that  shine  in  the  face  of  this  precious  Saviour,  and 
may  learn  the  depths  of  His  tender  sympathy  ;  far,  oh  ! 
what  is  human  love  to  this?  And  then,  having  learned  the 
lesson  in  the  school  of  Christ,  how  fervently  will  you  de- 
19 


218  MEMOIR     OF 

clare  to  poor  sinners  the  riches  of  His  grace  ;  and  what  a 
blessing  will  follow  your  labours,  if,  in  after  years,  you  are 
permitted  to  feed  the  flock  !  But  I  must  check  the  utter- 
ance of  these  hopes  ;  which,  however,  will  dwell  in  my 
own  bosom  while  we  are  divided.  Oh  George  !  if  I  did  not 
know  who  is  at  the  helm  of  events,  I  should  call  it  cruel 
that  you  are  to  ^o  ;  and  I  am  not  even  to  see  you,  or  bid 
you  farewell.  But  it  is  our  Father'' s  will,  and  this  must  be 
enough  for  me.  I  have  a  wavering  heart  that  often  departs 
from  Him,  and  he  sees  it  needful  to  subdue  it  in  many  ways, 
— and  this  is  one  of  them  I  should  have  felt  it  a  happi- 
ness to  contribute  to  your  comfort,  and  have  some  sweet 
converse  to  think  of,  when  seas  are  between  us.  But  this 
may  not  be.  Oh  may  it  please  God  to  make  me  willing  to 
submit  to  this  !  Dear  J.  will  be  with  you,  and  do  for  you 
all  that  a  kind  sister  could  ;  but  do  not  forget  that  you  have 
another  sister,  whose  heart  is  with  you  ;  and  do  not  forget 
to  pray  for  me.  Oh,  I  have  need  that  all  who  love  me  should 
do  so  !  Pray  for  Wallace  too,  that  he  may  live  nearer  to 
Christ  every  day,  and  win  many  souls  by  his  ministry  ;  and 
pray  for  our  dear  babes,  that  they  may  be  among  the  chil- 
dren whom  Jesus  blesses.  Henry  Robert  was  devoted  to 
Him  in  baptism  yesterday  ; — may  the  mantle  of  both  his 
dear  grandfathers  rest  on  him !  The  weeks  you  are  now 
to  spend  in  Scotland  will  be  very  precious, — remembered 
by  those  who  go,  and  those  who  stay.  May  they  promote 
the  growth  of  grace  in  each  !  And  may  I,  too,  grow, 
though  not  with  you !  I  was  hoping  to  have  had  a  few 
quiet  weeks  with  you,  before  the  General  Assembly.  Alas  ! 
when  may  we  have  a  quiet  week  together  again  !" 

We  here  introduce  her  valedictory  poem,  addressed — 


*  To  my  beloved  Brother,  George  Archibald  Lundie, 

Cleish,  April. 

Since  o'er  the  wave  thy  Fathers  mandate  calls  thee, 
And  bids  thee  seek  thy  home  in  climes  afar, 

Sweet  brother,  part  in  peace  !     Whatever  befals  thee. 
Still  may  His  presence  be  thy  guiding  star, 

To  point  with  Heavenly  light  thy  pilgrim  way, 

And  shine  in  warning  love  when  thou  would'st  stray. 


55JIRY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  219 

Trusting,  we  yield  thee  to  the  mighty  ocean, 

For  "  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand  "  it  lies. 
And  on  its  bosom  vast,  with  meek  devotion, 

Thou'lt  look  from  its  calm  wave  to  calmer  skies, 
And  bless  the  love  that  reigns  through  every  clime, — 
The  God  who  fills  the  universe  sublime  ! 

When  Albion's  shores,  from  thy  strained  gaze  receding, 

Are  fading  in  the  dim  uncertain  haze, 
And  sad  affection  is  thy  spirit  leading 

Back  to  the  beauteous  home  of  former  days. 
Oh  !  may  a  voice  divine  be  in  thine  ear  : 
**  Fear  not,  thou'rt  still  at  home,  for  God  is  here  !" 

Should  languor  come,  thy  gentle  frame  oppressing. 

And  tremble  in  thine  eye  the  silent  tear. 
That  now  no  more  thou  hear'st  a  parent's  blessing. 

Nor  tender  words,  that  sickness'  self  could  cheer, 
Be  Jesus'  sheltering  banner  o'er  thee  spread, — 
His  everlasting  arms  support  thy  head  I 

Shouldst  thou  in  spirit  to  thy  home  returning. 

Behold  the  lessened  circle  sigh  for  thee. 
And  each,  with  mournful  love  and  ardour  burning, 

For  thee,  retiring,  bend  the  suppliant  knee. 
May  faith's  assurance  soothe  thy  soul  to  rest, — 
*'  Their  prayers  are  heard,  thou  shalt  be  surely  blest !" 

With  thine,  our  prayers  shall  rise,  to  Heaven  ascending, 

Nor  seas,  nor  furthest  space,  a  barrier  prove, 
And,  at  the  shrine  of  mercy,  sweetly  blending, 

Shall  find  acceptance  through  redeeming  love ; 
In  lands  remote  our  parted  course  may  run  ; 
But  nought  can  sever  hearts  in  Christ  made  one. 

How  bright  has  been  our  hope  to  see  thee  feeding 

His  little  flock  in  these  our  quiet  vales ; 
With  watchful  care  the  faint  and  wounded  leading 

To  living  streams,  whose  water  never  fails 
Aiding  the  feeble  from  the  dust  to  rise, — 
A  man  of  God, — a  herald  of  the  skies  ! 

But  go  !  Heaven's  blessing  on  thy  path  attending,     ' 
Where  nature's  glories  shine  on  frozen  hearts, 

And  as  the  sun,  the  veil  of  darkness  rending. 
His  morning  splendour  o'er  creation  darts. 

May  gospel  beams  diffuse  resplendent  day. 

To  guide  the  hapless  flock  that  darkling  stray ! 

How  beautiful,  on  earth's  dark  hills  appearing, 

Day's  harbinger,  the  messenger  of  peace  : 
How  sweet  his  earnest  voice,  the  wanderer  cheering, 

That  tells  of  morn  arising,  ne'er  to  cease  ! 


220 


MEMOIR      OF 


Bear  thou  those  tidings  o'er  the  heaving  main, 
And  turned  to  songs  shall  be  our  parting  pain  ! 


M.  L.  D. 


A  year  after,  in  the  same  month,  when  the  banished  pil- 
grim was  ploughing  his  way  through  the  waves  to  the  still 
more  distant  station  of  the  English  missionaries  on  the 
Samoan  Isles,  he  addressed  these  remarks  to  his  sister, 
retracing,  doubtless,  in  his  solitary  contemplations,  the  sub- 
jects of  converse  long  since  passed. 

*  What  profession,  or  what  employment,  on  earth,  can 
compare  with  that  of  a  Christian  minister  or  missionary  ? 
It  is  to  be,  by  profession  and  always,  doing  the  work  of  God 
— doing  that  which  is  the  duty  of  every  Christian,  and  that, 
too,  without  the  continual  barrier  which  active  employment 
in  any  other  pursuit  presents.  When  shall  I  hear  from 
you  ?  I  fear  it  must  be  long.  But  I  love  your  poem,  which 
is  dearer  to  me  every  time  I  look  upon  it.  The  last  verse 
seems  to  me  now  to  be  prophetic,  and  fulfilled  in  part 
by  my  present  movement.  It  is  sweet  and  soothing  from 
beginning  to  end.  I  wonder  if  you  will  write  me  an- 
other !' 

No,  dear  brother,  she  will  never  write  you  another.  The 
concluding  stanza,  which  you  deemed  prophetic,  was  doubly 
so  ;  for  while  you  were  bearing  the  tidings  of  peace  over 
the  heaving  main,  her  parting  pain  was  turned  to  songs. 
We  dwellers  in  this  discordant  world,  with  our  ill-attuned 
hearts,  wot  not  of  the  songs  that  now  employ  her  ;  but  we 
do  know  that  the  voice  of  praise,  ascending  from  the 
swarthy  thousands  of  the  South  Pacific  Islands,  fills  the 
realm,  which  is  now  her  home,  with  joy.  Shall  we  not 
join  them  in  our  feeble  measure,  and,  bowing  to  His  holy 
will,  say, — blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord  ! 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  221 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

SYMPATHY      WITH       AFFLICTION MATERNAL       LOVE       AND 

ANXIETIES INFANTINE     RHYMES. 

In  the  midst  of  these  touching  interests,  her  watch  for 
the  souls  of  the  people  was  as  vigilant  as  ever ;  and  though 
her  writing  became  less,  her  cares  being  increased  as  well 
as  her  headaches,  gleanings  appear  in  her  letters  of  that 
which  interested  her.     For  example  : — 

'John  I ,.  of  whose  illness  you  heard  when  here, 

appears  dying  fast,  and  gives  brightening  evidence  of  pre- 
paration for  his  change.  He  says  the  Saviour  has  been 
"  a  sweet  Christ  to  him."  He  cannot  now  conduct  family 
worship,  but  he  collects  his  family  round  his  bed,  and 
prays  as  he  can.     W.  is  much  cheered  about  him.' 

Her  engagements  with  her  class  are  thus  spoken  of: — 

*I  am  enjoying  Serle's  Horae  Solitariae  on  the  titles  of 
Christ.  My  class  brought  above  two  hundred,  and  also  a 
great  many  titles  for  the  church.  It  was  a  great  pleasure 
to  me  to  arrange  the  titles  of  Christ  and  of  the  church  oppo- 
site each  other,  and  to  find  out  what  would  suit.' 

Of  her  domestic  enjoyments,  she  writes  to  her  dear 
school-fellow  : — 

*  You  will  not  have  so  many  cares  as  I  have,  and  I  trust 
you  will  have  as  many  pleasures.  Mine  are  great,  as  I 
feel  when  following  my  little  dancing  Mary  round  the 
nursery,  or  speaking  to  Harry,  to  gain  a  sweet  smile  from 
him.  I  have  a  good  deal  of  my  husband's  company  just 
now,  and  pleasant  evening  hours  of  reading  with  him.  I 
seldom  see  any  one  else,  my  own  dear  ones  being  gone, 
and  the  season  not  tempting  visitors  ;  so  that  I  have  time 
to  think,  and  would  fain  use  it  to  some  purpose,  remember- 
ing that  eternity  will  soon  wind  up  all  that  I  am  now  en- 
gaged in.' 

The  poem  entitled  the  Return  of  Israel  was  written  in 
19* 


222  MEMOIR     OF 

the  spring.  To  account  for  the  repeated  allusions  to 
the  Canticles  which  it  contains,  it  may  be  right  to  say, 
that,  during  her  confinement,  she  read  or  listened  with  great 
enjoyment  to  Fry's  Critical  Commentary,  which  beautifully 
spiritualizes  that  little  understood  portion  of  Scripture.* 

In  the  month  of  May,  there  was  a  numerous  gathering 
of  the  family  in  Edinburgh,  on  the  occasion  of  Dr.  Duncan's 
presiding  as  Moderator  of  the  General  Assembly;  and, 
with  others,  the  little  family  at  Cleish  migrated  for  the 
time.  The  impression  left  on  the  minds  of  her  anxious 
friends  from  that  period  was,  that  Mary  was  over-exerting 
her  strength  continually.  Restless  nights  with  her  babe, 
anxious  days  because  of  a  nurse  that  she  could  not  confide 
in,  an  affectionate  longing  to  enjoy  the  society  of  her 
friends,  hungering  to  embrace  every  spiritual  opportunity 
within  her  reach,  providing  for  her  summer  house-keeping 
in  the  country,  and  occasional  snatches  of  a  debate  in  the 
Assembly,  seemed  all,  or  any  of  them,  to  wear  her  out. 
Though  some  moments  of  sweet  converse  were  enjoyed, — 
and  it  was  delightful  to  watch  her  beaming  intelligence 
when  listening  to  Dr.  Chalmers,  or  Dr.  Duff,  or  to  Mr. 
Bickersteth  as  he  pleaded  for  Israel, — yet  the  abiding 
thought,  after  the  hasty  days  had  past,  was,  that  her  ener- 
gy was  more  then  her  frame  was  equal  to,  and  that  she 
must  procure  repose,  or  presently  be  stretched  on  a  sick- 
bed. Her  letters  were  fewer  than  usual,  and  repeatedly 
the  account  given  by  friends  of  their  visits,  included  the 
description  of  an  evening  passed  on  the  sofa  by  her,  quite 
unable  to  lift  her  head.  What  vigour  she  had  left  was 
awake  to  the  theme  on  which  hung  all  her  hopes-  On 
the  8th  of  July,  writing  of  her  intercourse  with  a  relative 
whom  the  Lord  had  seen  meet  to  smite  very  sore,  she  re- 
marks : — '  To  speak  for  myself,  I  have  felt  the  better  for 
G.'s  visit.  His  complete  submission,  as  it  regards  his 
losses,  strikes  me  much ;  and  not  the  least  in  reference  to 
his  little  children.  Instead  of  wishing  he  had  them  to 
soothe  his  loneliness,  he  esteems  it  a  special  blessing  that 
they  were  safe  in  heaven,  before  they  felt  the  want  of  a 
mother's  care.     Thankfulness  for  their  happiness,  and  that 

*  See  Appendix,  No.  I. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  223 

of  tlieir  mother,  seems  almost  to  swallow  up  his  grief. 
These  are  among  the  wonders  wrought  by  the  religion  of 
Jesus ;  and  when  I  remember  the  agonizing  struggle  I  had 
in  winter,  Avhen  I  thought  my  Mary  was  to  be  taken  from 
me,  I  wonder  whether  the  power  of  grace  could  ever  be  so 
manifested  in  my  earthly  heart.  But  G.  has  had  long  train- 
ing in  the  school  of  affliction,  and  his  heart  is  much  subdued. 
We  have  felt  it  a  privilege  to  have  him,  and  to  do  what 
we  could  to  cheer  him.'  In  the  same  letter,  she  replies 
to  remarks  on  the  expectation  of  the  personal  reign  of 
Christ : — '  I  do  not  think  it  the  legitimate  effect  of  a  belief 
in  the  personal  reign  of  Christ  to  stop  missionary  exertions  ; 
but  that  arises  from  carrying  it  too  far,  and  fixing  the  time 
for  which  there  is  no  warrant  in  Scripture.  It  should 
excite  to  greater  exertion,  that  the  nations  may  be  waiting 
to  receive  him.  I  feel  much  interested  in  the  subject,  yet 
almost  fear  to  study  it,  lest  I  should  go  wrong.  The  word 
of  Divine  truth  cannot  be  too  reverently  handled  ;  and  I 
shrink  from  a  fanciful  and  erroneous  application  of  any 
part  of  it.'  To  her  sister,  at  the  same  date,  she  writes, — 
'  It  is  good,  you  know,  to  bear  the  yoke  in  your  youth, 
and  I  hope  this  temporary  weakness  may  be  the  means  of 
lasting  good,  raising  you  to  look  beyond  life,  bright  with 
the  hues  of  youth,  to  the  better  land,  where  alone  hope  is 
realized,  and  joy  perfected.  I  often  Avish  for  you,  dear, 
and  feel  that,  however  kind  others  may  be,  my  sister  is 
wanting.  Where  are  our  dear  wanderers  now  1  perhaps 
enjoying  the  beauty  of  a  southern  shore,  after  their  sojourn 
on  the  water.  Farewell,  dearest  :  let  us  help  each  other 
to  pray  for  them  ;  and  pray  for  me,  that  the  cares  of  the 
world  and  other  things  may  not  choke  the  word  and  make 
me  unfruitful.' 

A  little  poem,  bearing  date  the  29th  of  July,  seems  to  be 
the  first  of  many  which  were  addressed  to  her  children  ; 
the  ideas  in  some  of  them  suggested  by  the  mistakes  and 
questions  of  her  little  girl.* 

As  we  approach  the  last  of  her  letters  to  various  corres- 
pondents, each  expression  of  the  brevity  of  life,  and  of  its 
imperfect  enjoyments,  arrests  the  attention  ;    yet,   withal, 

*  See  Appendix,  No.  II. 


224 


MEMOIR     OF 


there  was  no  anticipation  of  the  close  being  at  hand.  On 
the  contrary,  there  were  plans  for  future  usefulness,  extend- 
ing to  an  indefinite  date.  To  a  friend,  on  the  eve  of  mar- 
riage, she  writes  thus : — 

*  September  28. — I  trust,  dearest,  that  all  has  been  smil- 
ing around  you.  When  should  there  be  a  gleam  of  sun- 
shine in  this  changing  scene,  if  not  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
when  hope  is  realized,  and  those  whom  similarity  of  taste 
and  principle  have  united,  are  given  to  each  other,  to  aid,  to 
cheer,  to  improve,  and  sustain  each  other  through  the  rest  of 
life's  short  journey.  Yet  in  my  own  case,  the  earliest  days 
of  marriage  were  not  the  happiest ;  but  I  was  peculiarly 
circumstanced,  taken  to  a  place  of  perfect  solitude,  in  a  wet 
and  gloomy  season,  while  my  husband  was  so  much  occu- 
pied by  unavoidable  duties,  that  he  had  very  little  time  in- 
deed to  spend  with  me.  I  thought  often  and  fondly  of  the 
dear  circle  I  had  left,  whose  tenderness  had  shone  out  the 
more  as  the  time  of  parting  approached.  But  I  must  not 
dwell  on  the  process  my  mind  underwent  then  ;  as  time 
rolled  on,  I  got  more  accustomed  to  my  new  situation  and 
duties,  and  felt  that  W.'s  affection  was  a  blessing  for  which 
I  could  not  be  too  grateful ;  and  now,  with  my  darling  chil- 
dren, if  I  lived  in  the  wilds,  I  should  not  feel  it  solitary. 
*  *  *  What  an  advantage  the  Christian  has 

over  others  !  AVhile  they  form  plans  in  their  own  wisdom, 
and  are  bitterly  disappointed  if  they  fail,  he  is  resting  on 
his  Father,  and  saying,  "  if  the  Lord  will"  in  all  that  he 
proposes  ;  and  when  his  hopes  are  frustrated,  still  "  it  is 
the  Lord^s  wilV^  that  makes  him  meekly  submit.  You,  dear- 
est, know  this  refuge,  and,  in  the  midst  of  new  prospects 
and  new  responsibilities,  you  will  find  it  a  sweet  and  suffi- 
cient one.  You  must  not  be  over  anxious  as  those  who  are 
orphans  by  their  own  choice,  for  your  Father  in  heaven  will 
order  all  your  lot,  and  fit  you  for  all  its  duties.  His  love 
is  an  anchor,  as  well  in  the  dangerous  hour  of  prosperity  as 
in  dark  adversity,  and  I  trust  every  situation  in  which  you 
are  placed  will  open  to  you  fresh  and  brightened  views  of 
that  love.  *  #  *  ^y^  have  the  prospect  of  a 

quiet  winter,  which  I  hope  we  shall  have  grace  given  us 
to  improve.     Wallace   will   now  have  more  time  to  read 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  225 

to  me,  as  his  Hebrew  Lexicon,  the  labour  of  years,  is  fin- 
ished.    I  must  visit  the  poor  around  us  as  much  as  I  can.' 

The  hymns,  presented  in  succession,  show  her  purpose 
of  educating  her  offspring  in  the  service  of  her  Lord.*  Her 
plan  for  keeping  the  Sabbath  day  holy,  and  yet  making  it 
delightful,  associating  habits  of  restraint  with  animating  and 
interesting  occupations,  reveals  what  would  have  been  her 
object  had  the  term  of  life  been  prolonged.  As  the  event 
is  ordered,  He  who  accepted  the  purpose  of  his  servant 
David  to  build  him  an  house,  and  raised  up  a  successor  to 
fulfil  his  design,  may,  in  condescending  compassion,  take 
those  dear  little  immortals,  and  fit  them  for  his  spiritual 
temple,  by  means  of  hands  which  he  has  left,  to  pursue  her 
work  and  accomplish  her  matured  purposes.  We  are  no 
meet  interpreters  of  the  plans  of  the  Eternal, — it  becomes 
us,  like  Aaron^  to  hold  our  peace. 

The  last  days  of  September  were  passed  in  a  Highland 
excursion,  kindly  planned  by  her  husband,  with  a  view  to 
invigorate  her  frame  after  nursing  her  boy.  She  hailed  the 
charms  of  nature  with  never-tiring  delight,  and  gave  per- 
manence to  some  of  her  thoughts  in  the  verses  which  fol- 
low, where  the  rising  of  her  spirit  from  created  and  visible 
excellence,  to  the  divine  hand,  and  to  the  perfections  of  the 
dwelling-place  of  the  Creator,  and  her  own  hope  of  enter- 
ing there,  is  as  usual  the  theme.  This  journey,  in  com- 
mon with  all  other  exertions,  terminating  in  a  severe  head- 
ache. She  mentioned  in  writing,  shortly  after  this,  '  My 
head  is  very  had  sometimes,  but  my  general  health  is  ex- 
cellent.' 

VERSES  WRITTEN  AT  CALLANDER,  SEPT.  30tH. 

*  How  pure  the  light  on  yonder  hills, 

How  soft  the  shadows  lie  ; 
How  blythe  each  morning  sound,  that  fills 

The  air  with  melody  ! 

Those  hills,  that  rest  in  solemn  calm 

Above  the  strife  of  men. 
Are  bathed  in  breezy  gales  of  balm. 

From  knoll  and  heathy  glen. 

*  See  Appendix,  Nos.  HI.  to  XI. 


226  MEMOIR    OF 

In  converse  with  the  silent  sky, 
They  mock  the  flight  of  years  ; 

While  man  and  all  his  labours  die, 
Low  in  this  vale  of  tears. 

Meet  emblem  of  eternal  rest, 
They  point  their  summits  grey 

To  the  fair  region  of  the  blest, 
Where  tends  our  pilgrim  way. 

The  everlasting  mountains,  there, 

Reflect  undying  light ; 
The  ray  which  gilds  that  ambient  air, 

Nor  fades  nor  sets  in  night. 

Than  summer  sun  more  piercing  bright, 
That  beam  is  milder  too  ; 

For  love  is  in  the  sacred  light, 
That  softens  every  hue. 

The  gale  that  fans  the  peaceful  clime 
Is  life's  immortal  breath, 

Its  freshness  makes  the  sons  of  time 
Forget  disease  and  death. 

And  shall  we  tread  that  holy  ground  ; 

And  breathe  that  fragrant  air  ; 
And  view  the  hills  with  glory  crowned, 

In  cloudless  beauty  fair '? 

Yes  !  for  the  glory  is  the  Lord's, 
And  he  who  reigns  above 

Is  faithful  to  the  gracious  words 
That  breathe  forgiving  love. 

Then  on !  then  on  !  ye  pilgrim  throng, 

And  ever  as  ye  run, 
Break  forth  in  strains  of  heavenly  song, 

Till  home  and  rest  are  won. 

Look  up  !  look  up  !  to  yonder  light, 
That  cheers  the  desert  grey  : 

It  marks  the  close  of  toil  and  night, 
The  dawn  of  endless  day. 

How  sweet  your  choral  hymns  will  blend 
With  harps  of  heavenly  tone  ; 

When  glad  you  sing  your  journey's  end, 
Around  your  Father's  throne  !' 


I 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  227 

In  the  month  of  October,  they  received  a  visit  from  an 
old  clerical  friend  of  her  father,  who  left  his  young  daugh- 
ter for  a  time,  hoping  to  strengthen  her  constitution  by  a 
residence  in  the  country.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that 
this  visit  was  blessed  to  a  higher  and  more  permanently 
sanatory  effect,  than  strength  of  a  physical  character ;  as 
the  dear  girl  looks  back  on  that,  as  the  interesting  turning 
point  in  her  heart's  history,  when  the  instructions  and  pray- 
ers of  Christian  parents  were  made  to  take  root  and  bud. 
Describing  the  time  past  wdth  Mrs.  Duncan,  she  mentions 
being  taken  up  on  Sabbath  afternoon  to  her  chamber,  where 
she  '  talked  with  her  affectionately,  prayed  with  her  ear- 
nestly, and  tried  to  persuade  her,  in  her  own  sweet  way,  to 
seek  Jesus.'  She  also  tells  of  her  singing  sweetly  to  her 
while  they  sat  at  work,  and  taking  her  to  Kinross  to  amuse 
her,  though,  as  she  remarks,  with  great  simplicity,  '  I  was 
happier,  and  liked  better  to  be  with  her,  than  any  friend 
she  couid  take  me  to.'  She  describes  the  delight  dear 
Mary  experienced  in  planning  some  little  things  to  send  to 
her  distant  brothers,  and  the  many  headaches  she  gave  her- 
self,  by  labouring  at  a  piece  of  work  which  was  designed 
as  a  remembrance  to  a  dear  friend,  on  her  approaching  mar- 
riage ;  each  of  which  little  marks  will  be  remembered  as 
characteristic.  Her  industry  accomplished  what  furnished 
matter  of  amazement  to  many.  She  seemed,  as  a  friend 
remarked, '  to  do  so  much  of  every  thing  for  every  body,'  at 
the  same  time  looking  well  to  her  household,  and  not  al- 
lowing her  own  mind  to  run  to  waste.  Her  open  book 
upon  her  work-table  and  her  powerful  memory  laying  in 
stores,  while  her  needle  was  plied,  gave  no  indication  of 
the  suffering  head,  which  allowed  itself  no  respite,  though 
it  much  required  it. 

Several  poems  for  her  children  were  written  towards  the 
end  of  autumn.* 

In  the  end  of  October  she  attended  the  marriage  of  a  be- 
loved cousin  in  Edinburgh,  whom  she  '  had  always  regard- 
ed as  a  dear  elder  sister.'  Her  husband  returned  home 
without  her,  as  she  designed  to  suffer  a  double  operation 
from   a  dentist,  and  allow  herself  a  day  or  two  of  respite 

*  See  Appendix,  Nos.  XII.  to  XIV. 


228  MEMOIR     OF 

between  that  and  her  journey.  A  transient  feverish  fit  in 
her  little  son,  excited  some  anxiety  in  him  who  was  but  too 
willing  to  find  a  reason  for  hastening  the  return  of  his  be- 
loved partner,  and  she  was  hurried  home.  A  fortnight  after 
she  describes  her  emotions  in  a  letter  : — '  It  was  an  anxious 
journey,  and  many  a  fearful  vision  did  I  conjure  up  of  what 
might  await  my  return.  It  was  well  it  was  dark,  for  those  in 
the  mail  would  have  been  frightened  by  my  face.  Wallace 
said  he  had  never  seen  such  a  picture  of  wo  as  I  was, 
when  he  met  me  in  Kinross.  I  dared  not  even  ask  how 
my  sweet  Harry  was.  Great  was  my  relief  to  find  him 
pretty  well.  I  thank  the  Giver  of  all  good,  that  he  heard 
my  cry  "  out  of  the  depths"  of  dread,  and  sent  relief.  Oh 
how  sweet  it  is  to  know  that  there  is  a  home  for  little  chil- 
dren in  the  Saviour's  bosom  ?  That  when  they  are  taken 
home,  they  are  taken  from  sin  and  sorrow  that  they  have 
never  known,  to  the  full  flood  of  joy  and  love,  to  the  sweet 
gush  of  angel  melodies,  and  all  the  bliss,  and  all  the  hidden 
things,  which  are  still  seen  but  through  a  veil  by  the  oldest 
and  most  experienced  pilgrims  on  earth.  My  babes  are 
lent  to  the  Lord,  and  I  feel  a  delightful  hope  that,  in  life  or 
in  death,  he  will  accept  the  offering,  and  then  how  can  it 
be  with  them  but  well  ?  Yet  my  heart  is  weak,  and  the 
bare  whisper  of  parting  rends  it. — Will  you, — do  you,  my 
dear  friend,  pray  for  them  and  for  me  ?  *  *  *  Oh  !  it 
is  dreary  to  think  of  our  loved  ones  scattered  all  over  the 
globe — when  to  return  ?  Never  mind  ;  there  is  a  meeting 
place,  where  love  is  permanent,  and  parting  unknown  ; 
and,  best  of  all,  where  hearts  are  so  full  of  God,  that  his 
presence  is  enough,  to  make  their  happiness  perfect. 

At  this  time  the  gracious  awakening  of  many  souls  at 
Kilsyth  and  elsewhere,  made  many  to  look  up  and  lift  up 
their  heads  ;  seeing  that  the  Lord  had  returned  in  his  power, 
to  visit  and  redeem  his  people.  Prayer  meetings  were 
multiplied,  and  the  spirit  of  waiting  on  the  Lord  was  given  ; 
the  good  news  was  revealed  to  many  souls  ;  and  to  those 
who  had  before  enjoyed  the  same  blessing,  it  seemed  richer 
and  more  precious.  The  pastor  and  parish  of  Cleish  par- 
took of  this  gracious  impulse  ;  and  Mary,  '  to  her  power, 
and  even  beyond  her  power,'  was  abundant  in  hope,  in 
prayer,  and  in  holy  converse.     It  seemed  as  if  she  were 


MARY   LUNDIE   DUNCAN.         229 

more  fully  enriched  with  the  spirit  of  Christ,  and  would 
have  extended  the  arms  of  her  love  to  embrace  the  universe. 
While  she  and  many  with  her  were  rejoicing  in  the  glorious 
things  that  were  doing  in  our  earthly  mount  Zion,  He  who 
holds  the  cords  of  life  was  quickening  her  spirit  for  that 
holy  place, 

'  Where  hope,  the  sweet  singer  that  gladdened  the  earth, 
Lies  asleep  on  the  bosom  of  bliss.' 

She  described  herself  shut  out  from  the  moving  world, 
<  but  tied  by  pleasant  bonds  to  the  nursery,  which  was  her 
world.'  '  It  cannot  be  told,'  she  adds,  '  how  large  an  amount 
of  thought,  feeling,  and  time  it  engrosses.  I  seem  almost 
to  forget  other  things  sometimes,  but  never  those  in  which 
my  heart  is  interested.''  Her  family,  the  parish,  the  church, 
the  glory  of  Zion's  King,  these  were  the  never-forgotten 
objects  ;  and,  in  caring  for  these,  her  hours  passed  away  ; 
now  and  then  weaving  a  rhyme,  and  again  singing  forth  her 
thanksgiving  in  the  presence  of  '  the  Lord  her  righte- 
ousness.' 

When  going  to  an  evening  prayer-meeting,  during  one 
of  the  last  weeks  that  she  was  in  health,  she  had  detained 
a  Christian  friend  while  she  made  a  nursery  arrangement. 
On  hastening  to  join  her,  she  remarked  to  that  friend,  that 
she  had  such  delight  in  her  children,  and  her  cup  of  domes- 
tic comfort  was  so  full,  that  she  could  not  anticipate  its  long 
continuance,  in  such  a  chequered  scene  as  this  world.  Few 
days  intervened  between  this  grateful  acknowledgment  of 
her  happiness,  and  its  interruption,  when  the  same  faithful 
friend  was  summoned  by  her  own  Christian  love,  in  com- 
pany with  another  attached  member  of  the  congregation,  to 
share  to  the  very  closing  moment,  the  fatigues  and  griefs  of 
her  last  sufferings. 

On  the  21st  of  November,  on  witnessing  the  glories  of  a 
winter  evening  sky,  she  wrote  a  few  stanzas,  which  seem 
left,  like  a  voice  of  monitory  consolation,  to  him  whose 
earthly  fabric  of  happiness  was  just  about  to  be  shivered 
to  fragments. 


20 


230  MEMOIR      OF 


'gather   the  fragments. 


Thin  clouds  are  floating  o'er  the  sky, 

And  in  the  glorious  west 
Lingers  the  rose's  brilliancy, 

Where  sank  the  sun  to  rest. 
A  streak  of  light  is  hovering  there, 

Unwilling  to  depart ; 
And  soft  and  still  the  wintry  air 

Breathes  o'er  the  grateful  heart. 

Though  summer's  step  of  joy  is  fled, 

Her  voice  of  music  hushed, 
Her  shades  of  living  verdure  dead, 

Her  flowery  chaplets  crush'd  ; 
Sweet  nature  still  hath  power  to  bless, 

By  mercy's  hand  arrayed, 
Her  morn  in  fairy  loveliness. 

Her  eve  in  dove-like  shade. 

So,  when  the  days  of  joys  are  past, 

And  life's  enchantment  o'er  ; 
When  we  have  bowed  to  sorrow's  blast, 

And  hope  is  bright  no  more  ; 
There  still  are  mercies  full  and  free 

Mixed  in  the  cup  of  woes. 
And,  where  the  mourner  cannot  see, 

In  faith  he  onward  goes. 

Then  weep  not  o'er  the  hour  of  pain, 

As  those  who  lose  their  all ; 
Gather  the  fragments  that  remain, 

They'll  prove  nor  few  nor  small. 
The  thankful  spirit  finds  relief, 

In  calm  submissive  love  ; 
Toils  hopeful  on,  amidst  his  grief, 

And  looks  for  joy  above.' 

We  find,  bearing  the  date  November,  some  other  poems 
addressed  to  her  children.* 

To  a  friend  in  affliction  she  wrote  among  the  last  of  her 
letters : — 

Manse  of  Cleish,  November  25, 1839. 

My  Dear  Madam, — Ahhough  I  hesitate  about  intruding 
on  you  in  the  time  of  sorrow,  I  cannot  rest  satisfied  without 
the  expression  of  my  true  and  heartfelt  sympathy  with  you. 

*  Appendix,  Nos.  XV.  and  XVI. 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  231 

Three  days  since  the  notice  of  your  heavy  bereavement 
reached  me.  I  can  feel  a  deeper  sympathy  for  you  now, 
than  I  could  have  done  before  I  understood  the  depths  of  a 
mother's  love.  Alas !  how  mysterious  is  the  providence 
which  has  called  from  you  your  beloved  and  only  son ! 
How  many  hopes  are  withered  !  How  much  love  has  gone 
down  to  the  silent  grave  !  But  you  know  and  feel,  I  trust, 
so  powerfully  as  to  sweeten  even  this  bitter  cup,  that  love 
is  in  this  dispensation,  and  that  it  is  the  hand  of  a  heavenly 
Father  that  holds  the  rod.  O  what  comfort  there  is  in  this 
thouo-ht  !  He  will  not  use  it  further  than  he  sees  it  need- 
ful and  salutary ;  and  he  tells  you,  even  while  doing  so, 
that  "  whom  the  Lord  loveth  he  chasteneth."  Yes,  my  dear 
afflicted  friend,  blessings  even  greater  than  the  possession 
of  your  precious  boy  may  become  yours  through  his  removal. 
If  the  love  that  was  so  warmly  his,  is  more  firmly  centered 
in  Jesus, — if  heaven  appears  more  like  home,  and  earth 
more  like  the  pilgrimage  it  is, — and  if  thus  your  steps  are 
quickened  towards  it,  shall  it  not  be  well  1  We  never  feel 
the  true  meaning  and  value  of  our  Lord's  promises,  till  we 
are  in  the  situation  to  which  they  are  especially  suited  ; 
and  many  and  sweet  are  those  addressed  to  the  afflicted. 
I  trust  you  are  now  enabled  to  feed  on  them,  and  find  them 
as  the  refreshing  manna  to  Israel  in  the  desert.  The  voice 
of  human  sympathy  is  vain :  friends  can  only  weep  with 
you  ;  but  Jesus,  that  most  sym'pathizing  of  all  friends,  has 
power  to  comfort  too.  He  has  early  taken  your  darling 
from  an  evil  world,  to  be,  I  trust,  with  himself  for  ever  ; 
and  is  there  not  joy  in  this  ?  May  you  feel  his  own  hand 
supporting  your  drooping  head,  and  turning  the  tears  of  sor- 
row into  tears  of  submissive  love.  Forgive,  my  dear  Ma- 
dam, this  feeble  attempt  to  express  my  sympathy.  Receive 
Mr.  Duncan's  with  mine  ;  and  ofier  it  with  true  kindness 

to  Mr. ,  and  your  dear  little  girl,  whom  it  has  pleased 

God  to  leave  lonely.     Be  assured  of  the  feeble  prayers  of 
yours,  with  most  sincere  regard. 

Mary  Lundie  Duncan.' 


232  MEMOIR     OF 


CHAPTER  XV. 

SPIRITUAL   REFRESHMENT  IN  DUNFERMLINE DILIGENCE  IN 

DUTY LAST  SABBATH   IN  GOd's  HOUSE SICKNESS SUF- 
FERING  RELIEF   FROM  IT    FOR  EVER. 

Those  who  had  the  privilege  of  intercourse  with  her  at 
this  time,  remark  that  Mary  never  appeared  more  sweetly 
lovely  in  her  liveliness.  The  idea  of  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord 
being  at  work,  and  about  to  be  poured  out  in  fuller  measure 
on  her  own  parish  and  her  country,  seemed  to  have  called 
all  her  powers  into  animated  and  joyous  action ;  so  that 
while  she  prayed  more  fervently,  and  more  ardently  looked 
up  expecting  an  answer,  her  pulses  seemed  quickened,  and 
her  common  engagements  pursued  with  more  elasticity. 

The  news  that  a  meeting  was  to  be  held  in  Dunfermline, 
under  the  direction  of  Mr.  "W.  Burns,  the  young  pastor, 
whose  ministrations  had  been  blessed  elsewhere  to  the 
arousing  of  many,  led  her  to  desire  to  unite  with  the  friends 
of  the  Redeemer  there  in  prayer  and  supplication,  and  in 
hearing  the  word  of  the  Lord.  Her  husband  having  a  pro- 
fessional engagement  elsewhere,  she  went  in  company  of 
a  female  friend.  Her  desire  was  fulfilled, — a  large  share 
of  spiritual  influence  rested  on  her, — and  as  she  was  leav- 
ing the  sanctuary  in  the  evening,  she  said  to  her  friend,  '  I 
thank  my  God  that  I  have  been  permitted  to  come  here, 
and  feel  assured  faith  and  confidence  fill  my  soul.'  The 
words  of  Mr.  Grey,  in  her  funeral  sermon,  well  describe 
this  bright  experience,  so  close  upon  her  entrance  into  the 
shadowy  valley  : — '  Her  heart  was  full  of  divine  love,  her 
soul  was  much  drawn  out  in  prayer,  and  she  spoke  sweetly 
of  Jesus  to  many.  In  the  evening  of  that  day,  and  again 
the  following  morning,  she  read  the  Scriptures,  and  con- 
ducted prayer  in  the  family  in  which  she  passed  the  night, 
where  several  female  friends  were  assembled ;  and  in  these 
exercises  she  was  remarked  to  be,  as  it  were,  "  filled  with 
the   Spirit,"  her  "heart  burning  within  her,"  and  giving 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  233 

eloquence  to  her  tongue.  Many  were  edified  by  her  con- 
versation, and  one  young  person,  who  had  for  a  long  time 
experienced  much  distress  of  mind,  appears  to  have  been 
guided  by  her  to  the  sure  consolations  that  are  in  Christ. 
Next  day,  visiting  a  lady's  charity  school,  she  spoke  affec- 
tionately to  a  little  group  of  girls  on  their  souls'  concerns, 
some  of  whom  were  much  impressed,  and  were  noticed,  on  a 
succeeding  night  engaged  in  earnest  attendance  on  the  reli- 
gious exercises  in  church.  The  visit  was  blessed  to  her  own 
soul,  and,  we  trust,  has  proved  a  blessing  to  others.'  On 
her  return,  before  she  reached  home,  the  damp  cold  air  of 
the  evening  had  fallen.  This  confirmed  a  cold,  which 
probably  originated  in  her  having  continued  till  a  very  late 
hour  in  her  chamber  that  night,  in  devotional  exercises,  and 
in  making  notes  of  what  she  had  heard  at  church,  so  that 
she  went  to  bed  excessively  chilled.  But  ten  days  elapsed, 
before  her  health  appeared  to  have  sustained  serious  injury. 
On  that  subject,  she  remarked,  '  if  her  body  was  harmed, 
her  soul  was  refreshed.'  On  the  Sabbath,  she  read  the 
notes  she  had  taken  of  Mr.  Burns'  sermon,  to  her  class  of 
young  women  ;  pouring  out  her  heart  in  earnest  entreaties 
that  they  would  make  sure  work  of  their  souls'  safety,  by 
surrendering  them  now  to  Christ.  During  that  week,  her 
hands  were,  as  usual,  full  of  work,  ticketing  and  cataloguing 
Sunday  school  library  books,  and  making  a  list  of  those 
which  had  not  been  returned,  visiting  the  sick,  reading  to 
the  aged,  and  teaching  the  young.  A  domestic  remarked 
that,  for  a  long  time  before,  she  never  staid  a  few  minutes 
in  the  nursery,  without  mentioning  some  plan  for  the  bene- 
fit of  some  one.  Her  husband  observed  her  increased  acti- 
vity, and  when  he  urged  her  to  delay  various  exertions  till 
her  cough  should  be  relieved,  she  seemed  as  if  she  felt  time 
too  short  and  precious, — she  must  work  to-day,  for  the 
night  was  coming.  Even  her  delight  in  music  was  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  pursuit  of  Christian  duties,  and  spiritual 
occupations,  so  that,  for  a  long  time,  the  evening  hour  had 
not  been  cheered  by  her  strains. 

At  this  time  she  wrote  to  Dr.  Paterson,  whose  Christian 

exertions  in  Russia,  and  elsewhere,  have  made  his  name 

familiar  in  all  the  churches.     Her  object  was  to  promote 

the  education  of  a  youth  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  was 

20* 


234  MEMOIR      OF 

not  solicitous  to  what  body  of  Christians  he  was  united, 
so  that  he  might  become  qualified  to  seek  lost  souls  ;  and 
she  felt  it  a  pity  that  any  portion  of  zeal  and  love  should  be 
lost  for  want  of  a  little  exertion.  The  good  man,  in  his 
reply,  expressed  his  pleasure  in  observing  that  catholic 
spirit,  which,  in  these  days  of  division  and  estrangement, 
dwelt  uncontaminated  in  her  breast,  and  enabled  her  to 
apply  to  a  dissenter  with  as  free  a  heart  as  to  a  churchman  ; 
and  it  is  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  this  trait  of  her  cha- 
racter, which  could  not  have  been  perfect  in  love  without 
it,  that  the  incident  is  named.  All  who  loved  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity,  were  her  brethren  on  earth ;  all 
who  love  him  in  sincerity  are  her  brethren  in  her  eternal 
abode. 

There  exists,  in  the  minds  of  many,  a  feeling  of  the  de- 
ficiency in  the  collection  of  Paraphrases  for  the  use  of 
praise  in  our  church,  not  in  number  and  variety  only, 
but  in  Christian  love  and  doctrinal  faithfulness.  A  mis- 
sionary compartment,  in  particular,  would  form  a  valuable 
addition  ;  and  the  Church  of  Scotland's  Mission  to  the 
family  of  Israel  having  been  pointed  out  to  Mary,  she  at 
once  entered  into  the  idea,  and  a  paraphrase  on  a  portion 
of  Isaiah  was  the  result.* 

This  poem  was  sent,  with  the  promise  that  it  should  be 
succeeded  by  others. f 

Several  poems  collected  in  the  Appendix  cannot  be  ar- 
ranged exactly  according  to  their  dates  ;  but  whether  com- 
posed at  an  earlier  or  later  period,  whether  the  subjects  be 
of  heaven  or  of  the  smallest  of  God's  works,  the  same  holy 
remembrance  of  her  covenant  head  is  seen  in  all, — His 
skill,  His  love,  and  the  prospect  of  His  presence,  enhance 
her  admiration,  and  render  her  hope  more  ardent. 

To  a  Greek  air,  which  a  dear  friend  loved  to  hear  her 
sing,  she  composed,  at  the  piano  forte,  the  annexed  stanzas, 
not  being  satisfied  with  the  trifling  words  attached  to  it. 
They  bear  date  the  20th  December,  the  last  effusion  of  her 
muse,  and  the  prayer  of  their  petition  was  about  to  be  an- 
swered speedily.  It  has  been  remarked,  says  Novalis,  that 
we  are  less  dazzled  by  the  light  at  awaking,  if  we  have 
been  dreaming  of  visible  objects.  Happy  are  those  who 
*  Appendix,  No.  XVII.  t  Appendix,  No.  XVIII. 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  235 

have  here  dream  of  a  higher  vision  !  They  will  the  soon- 
er be  able  to  endure  the  glories  of  the  world  to  come. 

It  was  either  on  this  day,  or  that  which  succeeded  it,  that 
a  friend  returned  from  Dunfermline,  fraught  with  good 
tidings  of  many  being  pricked  to  the  heart,  and  inquiring 
the  way  of  salvation.  While  the  narrator  proceeded,  Mary 
sat  with  clasped  hands,  and  eager  gaze,  and  for  a  time  she 
could  find  no  utterance.  When  she  did,  her  lips  poured 
out  the  emotions  of  a  heart  rejoicing  in  the  glory  of  the  Re- 
deemer, and  the  rescue  of  the  perishing  ;  and  she  said 
among  other  things,  '  I  have  felt  for  some  time  past  as  if 
the  business  of  my  life  was  to  pray  for  Christ's  kingdom.' 

A  note  inviting  her  brother  to  pass  his  week  of  college 
leisure  at  Cleish,  shows  how  little  she  suspected  that  the 
dart  of  the  King  of  Terrors  was  already  fixed  in  her  bosom. 
'  We  are  living  in  the  hope  of  seeing  you  next  week, 
and  trust  we  shall  have  a  merry  Christmas  together.  I 
have  a  bad  cold,  but  the  joy  of  seeing  you  will  drive  it 
away.' 

*  On  Saturday,'  as  Mr.  Grey  continues  in  his  sermon, 
*  she  was  exposed  unconsciously  for  a  long  time  to  a  cur- 
rent of  cold  air,  which  chilled  her  whole  frame.  Yet  next 
day  she  rose  and  applied  herself  to  her  Sabbath  duties  with 
her  usual  zeal,  taught  her  class  of  young  women  in  the 
morning,  and,  after  attending  church,  her  class  in  the  Sab- 
bath school,  having  felt  particular  pleasure  in  the  service 
of  the  sanctuary,  and  shown  great  earnestness  in  the  in- 
struction of  her  interesting  pupils.'  She  returned  chilled 
and  shivering,  and,  as  the  servants  observed,  '  bent  almost 
double,'  from  the  school ;  but  still  the  unwearied  spirit  led 
her  to  lament  that  her  strength  was  all  worked  up,  so  that 
she  could  not  visit  '  Old  Kate,'  a  very  aged  person,  to  whom 
she  frequently  repeated  great  part  of  the  sermon.  '  Thus,' 
continues  Mr,  Grey,  '  was  the  last  Lord's  Day  of  her  con- 
scious communion  with  the  saints  on  earth  spent  in  the 
Lord's  service,  with  her  loins  girt,  and  her  lamp  burning. 
To  her  power  I  bear  record,  yea,  and  beyond  her  strength 
she  was  willing  and  zealous  to  do  good,  still  to  the  end  de- 
vising and  executing  plans  of  Christian  kindness.  The 
fever  had  already  seized  her,  which,  though  not  alarming 
to  the  inexperienced  persons  around  her  at  first,  advanced 


236  MEMOIR     OF 

rapidly,  and,  a  few  days  after,  deprived  her  of  the  power  of 
commanding  her  thoughts,  inducing  convulsive  effort  and 
incoherent  expression.  In  the  earlier  part  of  her  illness, 
she  murmured  words  of  her  father,  her  mother,  often  of 
*'  Jesus,"  "  his  blood,"  and  once,  when  asked  who  Jesus  was, 
she  answered,  "  The  man  of  sorrows."  When  her  husband 
expressed  his  concern  for  her  great  sufferings,  she  replied, 
"  quite  content ;"  and  on  one  occasion  he  repeated  the  pas- 
sage, "  These  are  they  that  came  out  of  great  tribulation, 
and  have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb  ;  therefore  they  are  before  the  throne  of 
God,"  &c. ;  Rev.  ^,vii.  14-17.  The  words  "wonderful 
peace"  passed  her  lips,'  as  if  expressing  her  own  experi- 
ence in  reference  to  the  sentiment.  On  another  occasion, 
she  said,  "  I  would  give  all  the  world  to  be  with  Christ." 
Being  asked  if  she  would  Uke  a  revival,  her  whole  coun- 
tenance kindled  into  a  glow  as  she  replied,  "  sweetly, 
sweetly."  That  was  her  last  smile,  and  it  was  given  to 
Jesus  and  his  cause.  Such  were  the  testimonies  to  her 
Saviour,  that  her  dying  lips  were  permitted  to  utter.  At 
one  time,  turning  to  her  husband,  without  any  appearance 
of  wandering,  she  inquired,  "  Do  you  not  hear  that  beau- 
tiful music?"  He  asked  what  it  resembled,  when  she 
attempted  to  imitate  it  in  her  own  silvery  tones,  but  the 
effort  was  too  great,  and  she  relapsed  into  a  comatose 
state. 

'  On  an  early  day  of  her  illness,  when  she  probably  felt, 
what  her  husband  was  unconscious  of,  that  the  sentence  of 
death  was  in  her,  she  expressed  a  most  tender  farewell  to 
him,  which,  a  short  time  after,  the  accession  of  disease 
would  have  rendered  impossible.  About  the  same  time, 
when  he,  within  her  hearing,  mentioned  his  surprise  that 
she  did  not  inquire  for  the  children,  she  said,  unexpectedly, 
"  I  want  to  see  my  children ;  I  am  heart-sick  for  want  of 
them."  Her  mother,  distressed  at  finding  that,  although 
sometimes  called  for  by  the  poor  sufferer,  she  was  not  re- 
cognized, and  could  not  awaken  a  sense  of  her  presence, 
made  it  her  petition  to  the  compassionate  Lord,  that,  though 
she  should  never  be  recognized,  he  would  grant  her  one 
word,  but  one  word,  from  her  child's  lips,  declaring  what  her 
hope  was.     At  this  time,  the  patient  had  sunk  into  a  state 


MARY     LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  237 

of  stupor  rather  than  repose.  When  roused  out  of  it,  her 
husband,  unconscious  of  the  petition  which  had  been  spread 
before  the  mercy-seat,  put  the  question,  "  What  is  your 
hope  ?"  to  which  she  clearly  and  distinctly  answered,  "  the 
CROSS."  Brief  but  ample  testimony !  Revealing  two  solemn 
truths, — the  one  overwhelming  with  grief — the  other  mighty 
in  consolation.  The  answer  to  the  petition  seemed  to  say 
she  must  depart  from  us  ;  for  were  she  to  be  restored,  she 
might  have  future  opportunities  of  professing  her  faith,  and, 
therefore,  this  one  had  been  unnecessary.  But  that  it  was 
answered  so  speedily  indicated  that  he  who  hung  upon  ihc 
cross  was  nigh  to  us  in  this  hour  of  wo,  faithful  to  His  word 
of  old,  '  In  all  their  afflictions  He  was  afflicted,  and  the 
angel  of  His  presence  saved  them.' 

In  the  sermon  the  following  comparison  is  added  : — 
*  These  words  were  articulately  and  intelligently  uttered ; 
and  while  they  undesignedly  fulfflled  her  mother's  prayer, 
and  confirmed  her  husband's  confidence,  though  by  no  means 
necessary  for  the  consolation  of  either,  they  may  justify  us 
in  conjoining  her  with  the  interesting  group  of  the  same 
name  who,  with  the  beloved  John,  attended  the  Saviour  in 
his  dying  moments,  when  the  other  disciples  had  forsaken 
him  and  fled ;  for,  we  are  told,  "  there  stood  hy  the  cross  of 
Jesus  his  mother  and  his  mother's  sister,  Mary  the  wife  of 
Cleophas,  and  Mary  Magdalene,"  And  as  these  stood  hy 
the  cross,  and  clung  to  the  Saviour,  though  at  the  time  very 
imperfectly  apprehending  the  nature  of  his  sufferings — so 
our  beloved  Mary  clung  to  the  cross  as  her  hope,  however 
imperfect  her  apprehension  of  all  things  else.' 

How  precious  were  the  isolated  words  that  dropt  from 
her  parched  and  indistinct  lips  !  When  all  our  feeble  com- 
munings were  shut  out  from  her,  the  Spirit  of  Peace  infused 
his  own  consolations.  We  were  by  these  words  at  times 
furnished  with  a  key  by  which  we  interpreted  volumes  of 
thought  which  she  could  not  reveal.  Words  sprinkled  over 
a  watching  time  which  knew  no  night  of  respite,  are  left  as 
the  index  of  that,  the  perfect  reading  of  which  is  not  for 
earth  but  for  heaven. 

How  solemn  is  the  evidence  of  God's  holy  indignation 
against  sin,  that,  though  the  blessed  Jesus  has  removed  the 
sting  of  the  last  enemy,  yet  even  from  his  own  dear  chil- 


238  MEMOIR     OF 

dren  he  has  not  seen  fit  to  withdraw  his  terrors  !  Who  can 
behold  a  beloved  member  of  the  body  of  Christ,  whose  glo- 
rious Head  is  in  heaven,  writhing  in  pain,  shrieking  in 
feverish  energy,  and  not  feel  that  death  is  a  fearful  enemy, 
sent  at  first  as  an  evidence  that  sin  can  have  no  share  in 
eternal  life,  and  continued  even  to  the  ransomed,  to  prove 
to  all  more  surely,  that  their  victory  is  not  of  themselves 
but  of  Him  who,  to  wash  them  from  their  sins,  expended 
his  own  blood. 

How  formidably  are  the  characters  written,  *  dust  thou 
art,  and  unto  dust  thou  shalt  return !'  '  There  is  no  dis- 
charge in  that  war.'  What  now  has  befallen  that  fair  high 
intellectual  brow?  Darkened  and  speckled  by  fever,  knit- 
ted and  wrinkled  by  pain.  Those  beaming,  loving,  smil- 
ing eyes  ;  alas  !  are  they  these  starting,  blood-shot,  parch- 
ed and  sightless  balls  ?  From  sights  like  this,  the  world 
hides  itself;  it  veils  them,  and  calls  the  act  delicacy.  But 
the  Divine  hand  that  inflicts  has  a  divine  purpose  in  the 
infliction  ;  and  shall  the  servant  of  God  '  walk  delicately,' 
and  turn  away  from  the  humbling  spectacle  ?  No,  let  us 
see  what  desolations  sin  hath  wrought  on  the  earth,  and 
then  heal  the  torn  feelings  by  the  consideration  that  the 
child  of  God  has  in  this  encountered  his  closing  conflict ; 
that  from  henceforth,  not  only  peace  and  ease  will  be  his 
portion,  but  fulness  of  joy  at  God's  right  hand,  and  plea- 
sures for  evermore. 

*  I  know  thou  art  gone  where  thy  forehead  is  starred 
With  the  beauty  that  dwelt  in  thy  soul  ; 
Where  the  light  of  thy  loveliness  cannot  be  marred, 
Nor  thy  heart  be  flung  back  from  its  goal ; 
I  know  thou  hast  drank  of  the  Lethe,  that  flows 
Through  a  land  where  they  6.6  not  forget  ; 
That  sheds  over  memory  only  repose, 
And  takes  from  it  only  regret. 

And  though,  like  a  mourner  that  sits  by  a  tomb, 
I  am  wrapt  in  a  mantle  of  care  ; 
Yet  the  grief  of  my  bosom — Oh  call  it  not  gloom — 
Is  not  the  black  grief  of  despair. 
By  sorrow  revealed,  as  the  stars  are  by  night, 
Far  off  thy  bright  vision  appears  ; 
And  Hope,  like  the  rainbow,  a  creature  of  light, 
Is  born,  like  the  rainbow,  in  tears.'* 
*  T.  K.  Hervey. 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  239 

While  death  was  working  his  fearful  havoc  on  the  earth- 
en tabernacle,  and  a  word  of  peace  occasionally  dropping 
from  the  lips,  there  was  one  indication  that  the  poor  soul 
was  still  struggling,  and  perhaps,  in  these  solemn  moments, 
suffering  from  the  fiery  darts  of  the  adversary,  who,  when 
he  cannot  interfere  with  the  final  security  of  the  sheep  of 
the  fold,  will  still  hang  on  their  skirts,  and  make  their 
hearts  tremble  ;  for,  has  not  the  word,  which  cannot  lie,  de- 
scribed him  'as  a  roaring  lion,  seeking  whom  he  may  de- 
vour V  On  one  occasion,  when  she  was  repeating  her  often 
murmured  call,  'Mother,  come!  come!'  unconscious  that 
she  was  hanging  over  her,  the  stanza  was  recited, — not, 
however,  anticipating  that  it  would  be  observed : — 

Jesus  thy  blood  and  righteousness, 
^  My  beauty  is,  my  glorious  dress, 

'Midst  flaming  worlds,  in  these  arrayed, 
With  joy  will  I  lift  up  my  head.' 

The  pupils  of  her  eyes,  generally  contracted  to  the  small- 
est point,  dilated  suddenly  ;  she  looked  with  anxious  intel- 
ligence, till  she  uttered  slowly,  word  by  word,  *  but — I — 
doubt.'  The  gleam  was  past,  the  expanded  eye-beam  clos- 
ed to  its  former  blank  ;  she  spoke  no  more.  How  vainly, 
then,  for  aught  that  appeared,  were  the  words  poured  out 
upon  her  vacant  ear : — '  To  them  that  believe  will  he  give 
power  to  become  the  sons  of  God;'  'I  will  never  leave 
thee,  nor  forsake  thee  ;'  '  He  that  cometh  to  me  I  will  in 
no  wise  cast  out,'  &c.  &c.  And,  was  it  possible  that  this 
mournful  gleam,  which  had  been  permitted  to  dart  from 
the  cloud  which  shrouded  her  mental  powers,  was  meant 
as  an  indication  that  she  was  still  in  the  midst  of  feebleness 
and  anguish,  liable  to  conflict  with  that  daring  foe  ?  It  is 
probable  that  the  thought  passed,  and  never  afflicted  her 
soul  again  ;  but  even  this  tremulous  expression  teaches 
that  the  prey  is  taken  from  the  mighty, — that  it  is  the  law- 
ful captive  whom  Christ  delivers, — that  the  wilderness, 
even  to  the  crossing  of  Jordan,  is  still  the  wilderness,  and 
that  sustaining  and  comforting  power  are  with  Christ,  and 
him  only. 

The  struggle  of  the  young  life  in  her,  however,  was  sub- 
siding.    Those  weary  tossings  were  gradually  becoming 


240  MEMOIR      OF 

Still.     Those  long  rich  mournful  tones,  which  had  made 
the  chambers  ring  for  days,  were  hushed — tones,  w^hose 
pathetic  sweetness  was   all  that  remained  by  which  she 
might  have   been  identified.     She  was  going  home  to  her 
Father's  house.     All  things  had  been  prepared  for  her,  and 
in  her.     Her  tender  loving  heart  was  sheltered  from  the 
consciousness  of  being  rent  from  her  husband  and  her  babes. 
She  had  no  leave  to  take  of  any  one,  and  wanted  nothing 
more  of  any  of  us,  but  a  grave.      That  day  fortnight,  at 
mid-day,  she  had  joined  the  voice  of  the  multitude  who  kept 
holiday  in  the   sanctuary.     That  day  week  the  door  of  the 
sanctuary  was  closed.     God  was  preaching  to  Cleish  by  his 
solemn  providence.      But  on  that  day — fourteen  days  of 
anguish  having  terminated  the  conflict — shortly   after  the 
hour  of  noon  was  past,  her  own  sweet  countenance  returned, 
her  breathing  sunk  away,  and  her  emancipated  soul  passed 
into  the  world  of  spirits.      There  no  pause  occurs  in  the 
acts  of  worship.     Where  the  Sabbath  is  eternal,  it  requires 
no  returning  seventh  day  to  bring  back  the  congregation  to 
re-occupy  the  vacant  sanctuary.     Yet  it  touches  the  imagi- 
nation a  little,  to  consider  that  Mary  departed  at  the  very 
hour  when,  had  all  been  well,  she  would  have  been  enter- 
ing the  courts  on  earth,  which  she  loved  to  tread.     Death 
is  a  dark  and  gloomy  porter,  but  it  has  been  his  office,  and 
will  be  to  the  end,  to  open  the  realms  of  everlasting  day  to 
all  who  are  united  to  Christ. 

The  snow-drop  may  droop  its  pallid  head  over  the  turf 
that  covers  that  precious  clay,  and  the  primrose,  that  she 
loved,  may  open  its  fragrant  petals  amid  the  grass,  showing 
that  the  hand  of  lingering  aiFection  has  been  there  :  mourn- 
ing love  may  raise  its  modest  tablet  to  tell  whose  child, 
whose  wife,  whose  mother,  and  whose  friend  is  taken  from 
the  earth  : — that  is  the  work  of  those  who  are  left  to  struggle 
out  their  pilgrimage. — But  she  is  united  to  that  family  which 
cannot  be  dispersed  or  die  ;  adopted  to  that  glorious  pa- 
rentage which  endureth  for  ever ;  dwelling  in  that  light 
which  is  ineffable  and  full  of  glory  ;  and  desiring  that  all 
she  ever  knew  and  loved  on  earth,  may,  through  like  precious 
faith,  join  her  in  the  kingdom  and  glory  of  the  same  precious 
Saviour. 

A  few  lines  from  the  conclusion  of  the  funeral  sermon 


MARY      LUNDIE      DUNCAN.  241 

must  wind  up  the  character,  which  needs  no  touch  but  that 
of  truthful  delineation  : — '  Mary,  as  one  pure  and  holy,  kept 
by  divine  grace  in  nearness  to,  and  reliance  on,  her  God 
and  Saviour,  seemed  a  merciful  selection  in  point  of  fitness, 
if  one  were  to  be  withdrawn  from  our  circle.  But  how 
heavy  the  loss  !  Where  was  a  creature  more  beloved,  more 
esteemed,  and  blessed  by  every  heart's  good  wishes  ?  This 
stroke  has  all  manner  of  consolation  of  a  spiritual  kind  in  it. 
No  one  could  be  more  willing  to  go.  She  has  got  her  wish, 
or  at  least,  if  her  tender  and  considerate  care  for  others, 
did  not  suffer  her  directly  to  wish,  yet  what  her  choice 
would  have  been,  no  contending  cares  interfering.  In  her 
diary  she  expressed  it  several  years  before,  "  When  I  think 
of  heaven  it  seems  so  blessed,  that  I  wish  I  were  there.  *  * 
I  shall  be  there  for  ever  ;  so  let  me  seek  more  fitness  for  it 
every  day."  She  is  safe,  happy — free  from  care,  sin,  sorrow, 
from  henceforth.  Her  light  shone  brightly  here,  and  leaves 
a  train  of  softened  radiance  behind.  How  indefatigable 
was  she  in  doing  all  she  could  for  others,  labouring  for 
their  interests  in  spiritual  and  in  common  things,  amid  duties 
and  occupations  of  her  own  immediate  charge,  that  are 
enough  to  wholly  engross  most  people  !  We  used  to  wonder 
at  the  trouble  she  took  about  every  body ;  her  sweet,  mild, 
Christian  manner,  giving  a  touching,  edifying,  grace  to  all 
she  did.  God  gave  her  grace  to  accomplish  more,  and 
made  her  light  to  burn  the  more  brightly,  that  it  was  soon 
to  be  extinguished.' 

A  white  marble  tablet,  with  a  black  frame-work,  is  erect- 
ed within  the  porch  of  the  church,  by  her  husband.  Some 
members  of  the  congregation,  not  satisfied  that  the  grave, 
also,  should  not  possess  a  memorial  of  their  departed  friend, 
raised  a  stone  in  the  churchyard,  not  more  a  testimony  to 
departed  worth,  than  to  their  affectionate  gratitude,  for 
spiritual  benefits  derived  from  her  whose  remains  rest  there 
in  hope. 

*  Seed  sown  by  God 

To  ripen  for  the  harvest.' 

Such  was  the  simple  epitaph  of  Klopstock  over  his  Meta- 
— Seed  sown  in  God's  field.     We  have  rejected  the  appro- 
priate and  ancient  Saxon  name  of  '  God's-Acre,'  and  have 
21 


242  MEMOIR     OF 

adopted  the  name  of  churchyard,  thus  losing  sight  of  the 
august  proprietor.  This  is  the  only  acre  in  the  parish  which 
yields  no  crop  for  man.  Man's  seed  times  and  harvests 
make  their  annual  round.  He  ploughs  and  sows,  reaps, 
consumes,  and  sows  again.  No  inch  of  territory  is  left 
unclaimed  which  the  hand  of  industry  can  render  fruitful 
save  this  little  spot,  and  it  is  God's  husbandry.  Man,  the 
sower,  himself  becomes  the  seed,  and  death  prepares  him 
for  the  earth.  The  Lord  of  all  the  surrounding  land  here  re- 
quires no  more  space  than  does  the  poverty  stricken  man 
who  never  before  called  a  foot  of  earth  his  own.  Here  is 
found  room  for  both.  God's  harvest  time  seems  long — 
scoffers  have  dared  to  say,  Where  is  it  ?  *  for  since  the  fa- 
thers fell  asleep  all  things  have  remained  as  they  were,' 
But  it  approaches — it  ripens  apace.  His  •  harvest  is  the 
end  of  the  world.'  The  power  that  caused  the  dead  walls 
to  crumble  in  years  gone  by,  at  the  blast  blown  by  feeble 
priests  who  bore  the  ark  of  the  Lord,  will  cause  dead  man 
to  rise  up  and  stand  ripe  for  the  sickle,  when  the  last  trum- 
pet shall  sound,  and  the  angelic  hosts  shall  come  forth  as 
reapers  in  the  presence  of  the  Lord.  The  Lord  of  the 
harvest  has  promised  to  receive  the  fruits  of  the  travail  of 
his  soul,  into  his  blessed  and  eternal  mansions. 

'  And  so  shall  we  ever  be  with  the  Lord. — Wherefore 
comfort  one  another  with  these  words.' 


MARY     LUNDIE     DUNCAN.  243 


Inscription  on  the  Marble  Tablet  in  the  Parish  Church 
of  Cleish : — 


So  t|je  iWemors  of 
MARY, 

DAUGHTER  OF  THE  LATE 

REV.  ROBERT  LUNDIE,  OF  KELSO, 

AND  WIFE  OF 

THE  REV.  W.  WALLACE  DUNCAN, 

OF    CLEISH. 


IN  THE   MORNING   OF  LIFE, 

THE  SWEET  AFFECTIONS  OF  HER  HEART, 

AND  EVERY  ENERGY  OF 

A  POWERFUL    AND 

HIGHLY  REFINED  INTELLECT, 

WERE   CONSECRATED,   BY   THE  HOLY   SPIRIT, 

TO   THE    SERVICE   OF 

JESUS   CHRIST. 


LOVELY,    ALIKE    IN    PERSON   AND    IN    CHARACTER, 

SHE  DISCHARGED  WITH   FIDELITY  THE   DUTIES 

OF  A  WIFE  AND  OF  A  MOTHER, 

AND    PRAYERFULLY    SOUGHT    TO    IMPROVE 

EVERY  OPPORTUNITY  OF  USEFULNESS 

AMONG     THE     PEOPLE     OF     THIS     PARISH  ; 

TILL, 

UNEXPECTEDLY,    BUT   NOT   UNPREPARED, 

SHE    FELL    ASLEEP    IN    JESUS, 

ON  THE   5th  day  OF  JAN. 

A.D.  1840. 

AGED   25. 


IE  11  [i  K     Z^  B  I^- 


I. 


My  Saviour,  be  thou  near  me 

Through  life's  night, 
I  cry  and  thou  wilt  hear  me, 
Be  my  light  ! 
My  dim  sight  aching, 
Gently  thou  'rt  making 
Meet  for  awaking 

Where  all  is  bright  - 

II. 

O  through  time's  sweUing  ocean 
Be  my  Guide  ! 
From  tempest's  wild  commotion 
Hide,  O  hide  • 
Life's  crystal  river 
Storms  ruffle  never  ; 
Anchor  me  ever 

On  that  calm  tide  ! 

Dec.  20,  1839. 


hWith  Feeling.     '  ^    ^ ^ 


— D~ — zim'r 


^1 


My        Saviour,    be    thou    near    me    Thro'    life' 

SZr 


fejii 


r  r     r 


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ftni-S 


P 


P^ 


I      I 


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^nx. 


jrrj: 


ef 


245 


i^f^^m^i^ 


a: 


cry  and  thoa  wilt  hear  me  ;    Be    my  light ! 

•    ••_•       • _* 

:i     L  I     I     r    ^  r  r- 


m~h4 


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P-s 


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My  dim  sight    ach  -  ing,    Gtent  -  ly    thou'rt  mak  -  ing 

^^—    - L 


21* 


APPENDIX. 


No.  I. 

THE  RETURN  OF  ISRAEL. 

Where  is  the  beauty  of  that  ancient  land, 

Where  patriarchs  fed  their  flocks  by  hving  streams  1 

Still  tower  to  heaven  its  mountain  summits  grand, 
Still  o'er  them  flings  the  sun  his  glorious  beams. 

But  bowed  on  Lebanon  the  cedar's  pride, 
Nor  vine  nor  olive  waves  on  Carmel's  rugged  side. 

Where  is  the  melody  of  sacred  song, 

That  floated  tuneful  down  the  vales  of  yore, 
Where  David  led  triumphant  choirs  along, 

Or  Miriam's  timbrel  swelled  on  Elim's  shore  1 
Faint  are  the  quivering  notes,  and  sad,  and  low, 
That  now,  in  doubt  and  gloom,  from  Judah's  children  flow. 

The  cultured  plains,  once  rich  with  milk  and  wine, 
Are  turned  to  deserts,  'neath  a  stranger's  tread  j 

The  land,  in  ashes,  mourns  her  banished  line. 
Nor  yields  her  fruits,  a  tyrant's  board  to  spread  ; 

While,  through  remotest  climes,  her  thousands  sigh 
To  reach  their  lovely  home,  and  bless  it  ere  they  die. 

For,  be  their  dwellings  in  earth's  fairest  plains, 

They  still  an  exile's  pensive  spirit  bear  ; 
To  them,  nor  hope,  nor  joy,  nor  wish  remains, 

But,  turned  to  Zion,  fondly  centres  there  ; 

They  mourn  it  now,  as  on  the  willowy  shore, 

Where  far  Euphrates  rolls,  of  old  they  wept  it  sore. 

A  time  draws  nigh  to  bid  your  sorrows  cease. 
Seed  of  the  Highest !     Yet  a  little  while. 
And  all  your  wanderings  shall  close  in  peace  : — 

Again  for  you  shall  Canaan's  beauty  smile  : 
And  where  the  cloud  of  heaven's  dire  vengeance  lower'd. 
O'er  the  rejoicing  land  Heaven's  sunshine*  shall  be  poured. 

*  Cant.  iv.  and  vii. 


248 


APPENDIX 


Then  shall  the  gathering  tribes,  from  Sinai's  height 

And  dewy  Hermon,  strain  their  eager  gaze, 
To  view,  through  distance  blue,  or  vista  bright. 

Each  vale,  each  sacred  stream  of  formerliays  ; 
While  from  Amana's  top  shall  burst  the  voice 
Of  loudest  praise,  and  bid  the  listening  earth  rejoice. 

No  more  shall  dark  Moriah's  brow  be  crowned 
With  idol  forms,  that  shame  the  blushing  day. 

Her  King  again  shall  bless  the  hallowed  ground, 
The  hills  of  myrrh*  ezultant  own  his  sway  : 

His  temple  rising,  evermore  shall  stand, 
The  glory  of  all  earth,  the  joy  of  every  land. 

With  trembling  awe  shall  Judah's  children  throng 
To  tread  the  sides  of  blood-stained  Calvary, 

And  bless  the  Man  of  Woes, — rejected  long, 

For  love  that  lived  through  all  his  agony,° 
And  watched,  through  ages,  their  ungrateful  race. 
That  hatred  gave  for  love,  and  scorn  for  pardoning  grace*. 

His  pitying  look  shall  melt  their  contrite  souls, 
His  smile  celestial  comfort  shall  infuse : 

As  on  to  endless  day  time's  chariot  rolls, 

From  pole  to  pole  shall  spread  the  joyful  news  ; 

Till  earth,  with  rays  of  Salem's  glory  bright. 
To  darkness  bids  farewell,  and  springs  to  life  and  light. 


M.  L.  D. 


No.  H. 
Poems  and  Hymns  for  her  Children  {to  No.  16,  inclusive.) 


My  merry  little  fly,  play  here, 

And  let  me  look  at  you  ; 
I  will  not  touch  you  though  you're  near, 

As  naughty  children  do, 

I  see  you  spread  your  pretty  wings, 

That  sparkle  in  the  sun  ; 
I  see  your  legs,  what  tiny  things  ! 

And  yet  how  fast  they  run. 

You  walk  along  the  ceiling  now 
And  down  the  upright  wall ; 

I'll  ask  mamma,  to  tell  me  how 
You  walk  and  do  not  fall. 

*  Cant.  iv.  and  vi. 


APPENDIX.  249 

'Twas  God  that  taught  you,  little  fly, 

To  walk  along  the  ground. 
And  mount  above  my  head  so  high, 

And  frolic  round  and  round, 

I'll  near  you  stand  to  see  you  play, 

But  do  not  be  afraid  ; 
I  would  not  lift  my  little  hand 

To  hurt  the  thing  He  made. 


No.  III. 

A      PRAYER. 

Jesus,  Saviour,  pity  me, 
Hear  me  when  I  cry  to  thee  ! 
I've  a  very  naughty  heart, 
Full  of  sin  in  every  part  ; 
I  can  never  make  it  good, — 
Wilt  thou  wash  me  in  thy  blood  ] 
Jesus,  Saviour,  pity  me  ! 
Hear  me  when  I  cry  to  thee  ! 

Short  has  been  my  pilgrim  way, 
Yet  I'm  sinking  every  day  ; 
Though  I  am  so  young  and  weak, 
Lately  taught  to  rmi  and  speak  ; 
Yet  in  evil  I  am  strong, — 
Far  from  thee  I've  lived  too  long  : 
Jesus,  Saviour,  pity  me  ! 
Hear  me  when  I  cry  to  thee  ! 

When  I  try  to  do  thy  will, 
Sin  is  in  my  bosom  still ; 
And  I  soon  do  something  bad, 
That  makes  me  sorrowful  and  sad. 
Who  could  help  or  comfort  give. 
If  thou  didst  not  bid  me  live  1 
Jesus,  Saviour,  pity  me  ! 
Hear  me  when  I  cry  to  thee  ! 

Tho'  I  cannot  cease  from  guilt. 
Thou  canst  cleanse  me,  and  thou  wilt ; 
Since  thy  blood  for  me  was  shed, 
Crowned  with  thorns  thy  blessed  head. 
Thou,  who  lov'd  and  suffered  so. 
Ne'er  will  bid  me  from  thee  go  ; 
Jesus,  thou  wilt  pity  me  ! 
Save  me  when  I  cry  to  thee  ! 


250  APPENDIX. 


No.  IV. 


A    MORNING    PRAYER. 


I  thank  thee,  Lord,  for  quiet  rest, 

And  for  thy  care  of  me  : 
0  !  let  me  through  this  day  be  blest, 

And  kept  from  harm  by  thee. 

O  !  take  my  naughty  heart  away, 
And  make  me  clean  and  good  ; 

Lord  Jesus,  save  my  soul  I  pray, 
And  wash  me  in  thy  blood. 

O,  let  me  love  thee  !     Kind  thou  art 

To  children  such  as  I ; 
Give  me  a  gentle  holy  heart ; 

Be  thou  my  friend  on  high. 

Help  me  to  please  my  parents  dear, 

And  do  whate'er  they  tell  ; 
Bless  all  my  friends,  both  far  and  near, 

And  keep  them  safe  and  well. 

No.  V. 

AN    EVENING    PRAYER. 

Jesus,  tender  shepherd,  hear  me  ! 

Bless  thy  little  lambs  to-night ! 
Through  the  darkness  be  thou  near  me, 

Watch  my  sleep  till  morning  light ! 

All  this  day  Thy  hand  has  led  me, — 
And  I  thank  thee  for  thy  care  ; 

Thou  hast  clothed  me,  warmed  and  fed  me, 
Listen  to  my  evening  prayer. 

Let  my  sins  be  all  forgiven  ! 

Bless  the  friends  I  love  so  well  ! 
Take  me,  when  I  die,  to  heaven, 

Happy  there  with  thee  to  dwell ! 

No.  VL 

PREPARING    FOR    SUNDAY. 

Haste  !  put  your  play-things  all  away, — 
To-morrow  is  the  Sabbath-day  ; 
Come  !  bring  to  me  your  Noah's  ark, 
Your  pretty  tinkling  music-cart ; 
Because,  my  love,  you  must  not  play, 
But  holy  keep  the  Sabbath-dav. 


APPENDIX.  251 


Bring  me  your  German  village,  please  ! 
With  all  its  houses,  gates,  and  trees  ; 
Your  waxen  doll,  with  eyes  of  blue, 
And  all  her  tea-things,  bright  and  new  ; 
Because,  you  know,  you  must  not  play, 
But  love  to  keep  the  Sabbath-day. 

Now  take  your  Sunday  pictures  down, — 
King  David  with  his  harp  and  crown, 
Good  little  Samuel  on  his  knees. 
And  many  pleasant  sights  like  these  ; 
Because,  you  know,  you  must  not  play, 
But  learn  of  God  upon  his  day. 

There  is  your  hymn-book. — You  shall  learn 
A  verse,  and  some  sweet  kisses  earn  ; 
Your  Book  of  Bible  stories,  too. 
Which  dear  mamma  will  read  to  you  ; 
I  think,  although  you  must  not  play, 
We'll  have  a  happy  Sabbath-day. 


No.  VII. 

SATURDAY  NIGHT. 

The  week  is  passing  fast  away, 

The  hours  are  almost  done  ; 
Before  I  rise,  the  Sabbath-day 

Will  surely  be  begun. 

Through  all  this  week,  what  have  I  done  I 

Have  I  been  kind  to  all  1 
Have  I  sought  any  thing  but  fun, 
And  run  at  every  call "? 

Have  I  been  still  when  I  was  bid, 
And  ceased  to  make  a  noise  ? 

Have  I  been  good  in  all  I  did, 
At  lessons  or  at  toys  1 

I'm  naughty  every  day  I  live — 

Say  many  a  foolish  word. 
But  God  can  forgive  all  my  sins, 

Through  Jesus  Christ  my  Lord. 

An  infant's  prayer  he  will  not  scorn  : — 

I'll  pray  before  I  sleep, 
And  ask  his  love  ;  then  rest  till  morn, 

For  he  my  soul  will  keep. 


252  APPENDIX 


No.  VIII. 


THE    SABBATH-BELL. 


What  sound  is  this,  that  gently  falls 

Upon  the  quiet  air  ] 
It  is  the  Sabbath-bell,  that  calls 

Men  to  the  house  of  prayer  ; 
For  there  God  promises  to  meet 
All  those  who  worship  at  his  feet. 

Yes  !  listen  to  that  chime,  my  love, 

Sweeter  than  earthly  song. 
It  tells  us  of  that  home  above, 

Where  we  shall  praise  ere  long  : 
For  if  we  serve  our  God  below, 
With  heavenly  harps  our  songs  shall  flow. 

On  earth  the  Sabbath  soon  is  o'er, 

The  day  we  love  is  done  : 
In  heaven  there  shall  be  night  no  more, 

For  God  will  be  our  sun. 
The  happy  soul  in  Jesus  blest, 
Enjoys  an  endless  day  of  rest. 

How  gracious  has  our  Father  been. 

In  giving  Sabbaths  here, 
To  rest  our  hearts  ;  like  pastures  green 

The  weary  flocks  that  cheer. 
Oh  let  us  thank  him  for  his  day. 
And  find  it  sweet  to  praise  and  pray. 


No.  IX. 

GOING    TO    CHURCH. 

Whither  are  these  people  walking  1 
Dear  mamma,  I  want  to  know. 

Some  are  with  each  other  talking, 
Some  alone  and  silent  go  ! 

Through  the  wood  and  down  the  hill, 

Many  more  are  coming  still. 

Hark,  my  love,  the  bells  are  ringing, 
'Tis  to  church  the  people  turn  ; 

Soon  sweet  psalms  they  will  be  singing, 
Soon  of  Jesus'  love  they'll  learn. 

Each  with  Bible  in  his  hand. 

Goes  to  pray  at  God's  command. 


APPENDIX.  253 

When  to  God  we  join  in  praying, 

I,  my  child,  will  pray  for  thee. 
O  how  kind  was  Christ  in  saying, — 

'  Little  children  come  to  me.' 
Will  you  come  and  be  his  own, 
Give  your  heart  to  him  alone. 

No.  X. 

THE    GREEN    PASTURES. 

I  walked  in  a  field  of  fresh  clover  this  morn, 
Where  lambs  played  so  merrily  under  the  trees, 

Or  rubbed  their  soft  coats  on  a  naked  old  thorn, 
Or  nibbled  the  clover,  or  rested  at  ease. 

And  under  the  hedge  ran  a  clear  water-brook, 
To  drink  from,  when  thirsty,  or  weary  with  play  : 

And  so  gay  did  the  daisies  and  buttercups  look, 
That  I  thought  little  lambs  must  be  happy  all  day. 

And,  when  I  remember  the  beautiful  psalm, 

That  tells  about  Christ  and  his  pastures  so  green ; 

I  know  he  is  willing  to  make  me  his  lamb  ; 
And  happier  far  than  the  lambs  I  have  seen. 

If  I  drink  of  the  waters,  so  peaceful  and  still, 

That  flow  in  his  field,  I  for  ever  shall  live  ; 
If  I  love  him,  and  seek  his  commands  to  fulfil, 

A  place  in  his  sheep-fold  to  me  he  will  give. 

The  lambs  are  at  peace  in  the  fields  when  they  play 
The  long  summer's  day  in  contentment  they  spend  ; 

But  happier  I, — if  in  God's  holy  way 
I  try  to  walk  always,  with  Christ  for  my  friend. 

No.  xr. 

THE  lamb's  lullaby. 
CHILD. 

The  pretty  little  lambs  that  lie 

To  sleep  upon  the  grass, 
Have  none  to  sing  them  lullaby 

But  the  night  winds  as  they  pass. 

While  I,  a  happy  little  maid, 
Bid  dear  papa  good-night ; 
And  in  my  crib  so  warm  am  laid, 
And  tucked  up  snug  and  tight. 
22 


254  APPENDIX* 

Then  Annie  sits  and  sings  to  me, 
With  gentle  voice  and  soft. 

The  Highland  song  of  sweet  Glenshee, 
That  I  have  heard  so  oft. 

Or  else  some  pretty  hymn  she  sings, 

Until  to  sleep  I  go  ; 
But  the  young  helpless  lambs,  poor  thingSj, 

Have  none  to  lull  them  so. 

O,  if  the  lambs  to  me  would  come, 

I'd  try  to  sing  Glenshee  ; 
And  here,  in  this  warm  quiet  room, 

How  sound  their  sleep  would  be  ! 

Haste,  kind  mamma  !  and  call  them  here. 
Where  they'll  be  warm  as  I  ; 

For  in  the  chilly  fields  I  fear, 
Before  the  morn  they'll  die. 


MAMMA  S    ANSWER. 

The  lambs  sleep  in  the  fields,  'tis  true, 

Without  a  lullaby ; 
And  yet  they  are  as  warm  as  you, 

Beneath  the  summer  sky. 

They  choose  some  dry  and  grassy  spot, 

Below  the  shady  trees  ; 
To  other  songs  they  listen  not, 

Than  the  pleasant  evening  breeze. 

The  blankets  soft  that  cover  you, 

Are  made  of  fleeces  warm. 
That  kept  the  sheep  from  evening  dew, 

Or  from  the  wintry  storm. 

And  when  the  night  is  bitter  cold. 
The  shepherd  comes  with  care. 

And  leads  them  to  his  peaceful  fold  : 
They're  safe  and  sheltered  there. 

How  happy  are  the  lambs,  my  love, 
How  safe  and  calm  they  rest  ! 

But  you  a  shepherd  have  above. 
Of  all  kind  shepherds  best. 

His  lambs  he  gathers  in  his  arras, 

And  in  his  bosom  bears ; 
How  blest, — how  safe  from  all  alarms,— 

Each  child  his  love  who  shares  ! 


APPENDIX.  255 

O  I  if  you'll  be  his  gentle  child, 

And  listen  to  his  voice, 
Be  loving,  dutiful,  and  mild. 

How  will  mamma  rejoice  ! 

Then,  when  you've  done  His  will  below, 

And  you  are  called  to  die  ; 
In  his  kind  arms  your  soul  shall  go 

To  his  own  fold  on  hisfh. 


No.  xn. 

THE    BEE    AND    THE    FLOWERS. 


Ah  !  do  not, — do  not  touch  that  bee  ! 
Stand  still,  its  busy  course  to  see, 

But  take  your  hand  away  ; 
For,  though  'tis  neither  large  nor  strong, 
It  has  a  sting  both  sharp  and  long, 

And  soon  could  spoil  your  play. 


I  did  not  know  the  bee  could  sting — 
I  see  it  fly,  on  rapid  wing. 

Among  the  garden  bowers ; 
And  now  it  lights  upon  a  rose, 
Now  to  a  jasmine  branch  it  goes  ; 

Say,  will  it  sting  the  flowers  1 

It  settles  where  the  woodbine  sweet 
Twines  round  the  tree — it  plants  its  feet — 

How  firm  and  fast  they  cling  ! 
Oh,  how  I  love  the  pretty  flowers, 
That  bloom  through  all  the  sunny  hours  I 

Pray,  do  not  let  it  sting. 


You  need  not  fear ;  it  loves,  like  you, 
The  flowers  of  varied  form  and  hue, 

They  yield  it  honied  spoil  ; 
It  only  stings  the  thoughtless  train, 
Who  seek  its  life,  or  give  it  pain. 

Or  stop  its  happy  toil — 

Or  idle  drones,  which  labour  not, 

But  eat  the  honey  it  has  sought 

To  ^tore  the  crowded  hive  ; 


256  APPENDIX. 

Or  insects  that  would  enter  there, 
To  steal  the  food  it  brings  with  care, 
To  keep  its  race  alive. 

In  search  of  flowers  this  food  that  yield, 
It  flies  abroad  through  hill  and  field, 

With  pleasant  humming  sound  : 
It  rests  on  many  a  blossom  bright, 
That  opens,  far  from  human  sight, 

To  deck  the  lonely  ground. 

Flowers  were  not  made  for  man  alone, 
But  freely  o'er  the  earth  are  strewn. 

To  bless  the  creatures  too  ; 
And  many  an  insect  nation  dwells 
Among  fair  buds  and  mossy  cells, 

That  we  shall  never  view. 


Mamma,  you  told  me  it  was  God 

Who  clothed  with  flowers  the  ground  I  trod- 

Oh,  I  will  love  him  well  \ 
He  made  the  flowers  to  feed  the  bee, 
And  to  delight  a  child  like  me. 

Who  scarce  his  praise  can  tell. 


No.  XIII. 


THE    WET    SPARE OVy. 

How  heavy  the  rain  is  that  falls  on  the  ground  ! 

How  cold  is  the  wind  through  the  garden  that  blows  ! 
It  shakes  the  large  drops  from  the  branches  around — 

And  see  I  it  has  torn  all  the  leaves  from  that  rose. 

I'm  glad  I'm  within  doors,  so  warm  and  so  dry, 

AV^here  the  rain  cannot  wet  me,  that  beats  on  the  pane- 

But  what  is  that,  hopping  so  quietly  by  1 

'Tis  a  poor  little  sparrow,  that's  out  in  the  rain. 

It  cannot  find  shelter,  for  wet  is  each  tree. 
And  no  clothing  it  has  to  protect  it  at  all. 

Ah  I  poor  little  creature,  how  cold  it  must  be  ! 
Mamma,  may  I  take  the  poor  sparrow  a  shawl ! 

A  shawl  would  but  trouble  the  sparrow,  my  child  ; 

It  has  clothing  still  softer  and  warmer  than  yours  ; 
Which  never  wears  out,  nor  by  wetting  is  spoiled  ; 

For  through  summer  and  winter  its  beauty  endures. 


APPENDIX. 

Now,  look  at  it  closer,  and  see  how  'tis  drest— 
It  is  covered  with  feathers  of  many  a  shade  • 

its  tail  sober  brown  is,  and  white  is  its  breast,' 
And  in  coat  black  and  grey  it  is  neatly  arrayed. 

For  God,  who  so  kindly  gives  comforts  to  you, 

1  akes  care  of  the  sparrow,  and  clothes  it,  and  feeds  • 

He  warmly  protects  it  from  rain  and  from  dew 
And  gives  it  the  shelter  and  rest  that  it  needs. 

And  see  !  it  has  flown  to  its  home  in  the  tree 

Mong  the  thick  bowery  leaves,  where  secure  it  can  hide 
Or  can  soar  on  its  pinions,  all  joyous  and  free  ' 

As  happy  as  you,  when  you  sport  by  my  side. 

No.  XIV. 

MY    LITTLE    BROTHER. 

Little  brother,  darling  boy, 

You  are  very  dear  to  me  ! 
I  am  happy— full  of  joy, 

When  your  smiling  face  I  see. 

How  I  wish  that  you  could  speak, 

And  could  know  the  words  I  say  ! 
Pretty  stories  I  v^^ould  seek, 
To  amuse  you  every  day  ':— 

All  about  the  honey  bees, 

Flying  past  us  in  the  sun  ; 
Birds  that  sing  among  the  trees, 

Lambs  that  in  the  meadows  run. 

I'll  be  very  kind  to  you. 

Never  slap  or  make  you  cry, 
As  some  naughty  children  do, 

Quite  forgetting  God  is  nigh. 

Shake  your  rattle — here  it  is 

Listen  to  its  merry  noise  ; 
And,  when  you  are  tired  of  this, 

I  will  bring  you  other  toys. 


No.  XV. 

THE      HEATH. 

This  is  a  pretty  flower  indeed. 

You've  brought  to  show  mamma  to-day  I 
1  bough  common,  'tis  no  vulgar  weed, 

Fit  only  to  be  thrown  away. 


257 


268  APPENDIX. 

It  is  the  heath,  or  heather-hell ; — 
I  guess  you  found  it  on  the  hill : 

Its  purple  buds,  its  fragrant  smell, 
Are  nursed  by  mountain  breezes  stiD. 

And  many  a  heathy  hill  I've  seen, 
All  bright  and  purple  with  its  flowers, 

That  bloom  among  the  leaves  so  green. 
Fairer  than  those  of  garden  bowers. 

The  humming  bee  oft  wings  its  way, 
To  seek  the  honey  from  its  breast. 

It  toils  each  sunny  autumn  day, 
In  winter  'twill  have  time  to  rest. 

Nay,  do  not  eat  it,  simple  one  ! 

For  you  will  find  no  honey  there  ; 
But  when  the  bees  their  work  have  done. 

You  in  their  sweets  perhaps  may  share. 


No.  XVI. 

THE      SHADOWS 


The  candles  are  lighted,  the  fire  blazes  bright. 
The  curtains  are  drawn  to  keep  out  the  cold  air, 

What  makes  you  so  grave,  little  darling,  to-night, 
And  where  is  your  smile,  little  quiet  one,  where  1 


Mamma,  I  see  something  so  dark  on  the  wall. 

It  moves  up  and  down,  and  it  looks  very  strange ; 

Sometimes  it  is  large,  and  sometimes  it  is  small. 
Pray,  tell  me  what  is  it,  and  why  does  it  change  ! 


It  is  mamma's  shadow  that  puzzles  you  so. 

And  there  is  your  own  close  beside  it,  my  love  ; 

Now  run  round  the  room,  it  will  go  where  you  go  : 

When  you  sit  'twill  be  still,  when  you  rise,  it  will  move. 


I  don't  like  to  see  it,  do  please  let  me  ring 
For  Betsy  to  take  all  the  shadows  away. 


No ;  Betsy  oft  carries  a  heavier  thing. 
But  she  could  not  lift  this  should  she  try  a  whole  day. 


APPENDIX.  259 

These  wonderful  shadows  are  caused  by  the  light, 

From  fire  and  from  candles  upon  us  that  falls  : 
Were  we  not  sitting  here,  all  that  place  would  be  bright, 

But  the  light  can't  shine  through  us,  you  know,  on  the  walls. 

And,  when  you  are  out  some  fine  day  in  the  sun, 

I'll  take  you  where  shadows  of  apple-trees  lie  ; 
And  houses  and  cottages  too, — every  one 

Cast  a  shade  when  the  sun's  shining  bright  in  the  sky. 

Now  hold  up  your  mouth,  and  give  me  a  sweet  kiss. 
Our  shadows  kiss  too  !  don't  you  see  it  quite  plain'? 


0  yes  !  and  I  thank  you  for  telling  me  this 
I'll  not  be  afiraid  of  a  shadow  again. 


No.  XVII. 

ISAIAH,  CHAP.  LXII.  VER.  1-5. 

For  Zion's  sake, — chastised  of  God, — 

I  will  not  hold  my  peace  ; 
For  Salem, — smitten  by  his  rod, — 

My  labours  shall  not  cease. 

I'll  daily  wrestle  at  his  throne 

For  mercy  to  the  race 
Of  Judah  ;  are  they  not  his  ownl 

Shall  they  not  find  his  grace  1 

Yes  ;  when  his  church  is  stirred  to  pray, 

O  Salem  !  for  thy  line. 
As  orient  light  of  breaking  day 

Thy  righteousness  shall  shine. 

As  lamp  that  cheers  the  gloomy  night, 

Shall  thy  salvation  be  ; 
Gentiles  shall  hail  thy  rising  light, 

And  kings  thy  glory  see. 

Emerging  from  the  cloud  of  wo, 
As  God's  own  fold  confest  ; 

A  nobler  name  he  shall  bestow, 
And  men  shall  own  thee  blest. 

Thy  Lord  himself  shall  thee  uphold — 

A  crown  of  glory  bright, 
A  diadem  of  royal  mould. 

For  ever  in  his  sight. 


260 


APPENDIX. 

Forsaken  thou  no  more  shalt  lie, — 

No  more  thy  land  shall  pine  ; 
Beulah  shall  be  its  title  high, 

And  Hephzi-bah  be  thine. 

Thy  scattered  sons,  from  many  a  shore, 

Shall  eager  throng  to  thee  ; 
Widowed  and  desolate  no  more, — 

Thy  land  shall  married  be. 

In  thee,  as  bridegroom  o'er  his  bride, 

Jehovah  shall  rejoice  ; 
For  evermore  thou  shalt  abide 

The  people  of  his  choice. 

No.  XVIII. 

THE    ISLES    OF    THE    GENTILES. 

Calm  on  the  bosom  of  the  deep 
A  thousand  beauteous  islets  lie  ; 

While  glassy  seas  that  round  them  sleep. 
Reflect  the  glories  of  the  sky. 

How  radiant  mid  the  watery  waste 

Their  groves  of  emerald  verdure  smile, 

Like  Eden-spots,  in  ocean  placed. 
The  weary  pilgrim  to  beguile. 

Graceful  through  forest  vistas  bright. 
The  fair  Mimosa's  shadows  spread  ; 

And  'gainst  those  skies  of  amber  light, 
The  palm-tree  lifts  its  towering  head. 

Alas  !  that  in  those  happy  vales, 

Meet  homes  for  pure  and  heaven-born  love, 
Unholy  discord  still  prevails, 

And  weeping  peace  forsakes  the  grove. 

Alas  !  that  on  those  lovely  shores, 
Where  earth  and  sky  in  beauty  shine. 

And  Heaven  profusely  sheds  its  stores, 
Man  should  in  heathen  bondage  pine, 

O  haste  !  ye  messengers  of  God, 

With  hearts  of  zeal  and  tongues  of  flame, — 
Go  !  spread  the  welcome  sound  abroad. 

That  all  may  '  bless  Messiah's  name.' 

That  where  the  smoke  of  offerings  base, 
From  idol  fanes  obscure  the  day, 

May  rise  the  incense  of  a  race 

Whose  souls  are  taught  by  Heaven  to  pray. 


APPENDIX. 

When  shall  the  solemn  Sabbath-bell 

Chime  through  those  plams  at  morning  prime, 

And  choral  hymns  of  praises  swell 

Through  those  deep  woods,  in  notes  sublime 

Soft  mingling  with  the  wave's  low  moan, 
The  sound  shall  float  o'er  ocean's  breast, 

To  tell  the  wave-tossed  wanderer  lone, 
'  The  ark  of  mercy  here  doth  rest.' 
December,  1834. 

No.  XIX. 

ON    HEARING    A    CONCERT    OF    MUSIC. 

There's  music  on  the  listening  air, 

That,  faint,  as  evening's  parting  breeze, 

Seems  in  its  soft  low  tones  to  bear 
Combined,  a  thousand  melodies  ! 

Now  swells  the  strain,  and  gaily  now 
From  harp  and  voice  in  union  bland, 

Such  light  and  graceful  measures  flow, 
As  lead  the  sports  in  Fairy  land  ! 

Now  falls  the  strain  ;  but  silent  still. 
As  hearing  yet  that  charmed  sound. 

Rests  a  bright  band, — for  rapture's  thrill 
Yet  vibrates  in  each  bosom's  bound. 

The  hush  is  o'er !  the  beaming  smile 
And  low-toned  whispers  bre°athe  delight ; 

0  could  those  strains  that  time  beguile 
Yet  float  upon  the  wings  of  night ! 

Ye  lovely  throng  !  a  sweeter  lay 
Than  this  ye  yet  may  learn  to  sing  ; 

And  harps  of  deeper  melody. 

Your  hands,  in  fairer  climes,  may  string. 

Was  music  given  to  cheer  your  souls'? 

'Tis  purer  where  the  angels  dwell  : 
Through  heaven  the  lofty  anthem  rolls, 

As  thousand  lyres  the  chorus  swell  1 

LoA'e  ye  the  soft,  the  pensive  calm. 

That  earth-born  numbers  round  you  shed 

The  soul  that  wins  the  victor's  palm. 

Shall  hymn  ecstatic  joys  when  time  is  fled ! 


261 


*'iQ'2  APPENDIX. 

No.  XX. 

^  A  WISH. 

Written  in  M.  A.  B.'s  Album. 

I  ask  not  that  where  pleasure  tunes 

Her  syren  voice  to  song, 

Thou  to  the  fairy  strains  mayest  list 

Amid  the  giddy  throng  , 

For  well  I  know  that  happiness, 

Fair  child  of  heavenly  birth  ! 

Approaches  not  the  glittering  scenes 

That  bear  her  name  on  earth. 

I  ask  not  that  where  folly  wheels 

Her  gay  and  ceaseless  maze, 

Thou  may'st  with  others  pass  the  best, 

The  earliest  of  thy  days. 

For  ah  !  when  sadness  shades  the  brow, 

And  sorrow  dims  the  eye, 

Her  visions  of  enjoyment  cease, 

Her  fair  illusions  die. 

I  ask  not  that  in  fragrant  bowers 
Thy  sunny  days  may  fly, 
Where  every  tranquil  object  smiles 
Beneath  a  cloudless  sky  ; 
For  then  would  earth  be  paradise, 
And  thou  would'st  wish  to  dwell 
For  ever  mid  its  smiling  plains, 
And  love  its  charms  too  well. 

But  may'st  thou  find  that  holy  Peace, 

The  calm,  the  pure,  the  blest, 

"WTiich  as  thou  journey'st  through  the  world 

Will  keep  thy  heart  at  rest. 

For  she  will  shed  her  radiant  beam 

On  thine  untroubled  heart. 

And  thou  shalt  bless  the  love  of  Him 

Who  could  such  joy  impart. 

And  when  thy  dying  hour  shall  come. 

And  earth  can  charm  no  more, 

'Twill  shine  with  brightness  yet  unknown, 

Till  thy  last  breath  is  o'er. 

Peace  was  the  parting  gift  of  Him 

Whose  life  on  earth  was  love  ; 

And  what  we  taste  but  dimly  here, 

Js  perfect  bliss  above. 


APPENDIX.  263 

No  XXI. 

*FOKGET  ME  NOT.' 

To  a  Friend. 


There  is  a  little  fragile  flower 

That  bends  to  every  passing  breeze  ; 

It  lingers  near  the  leafy  bower, 
Amid  the  shade  of  summer  trees. 

No  gaudy  hue  attracts  the  gaze 
Of  those  that  pass  its  humble  bed, 

No  odours  fill  the  forest  maze 
By  its  expanding  blossoms  shed. 

Yet  dearer  is  its  bending  stem 

And  cup  of  blue  that  grace  the  bower, 

Than  many  a  costly  orient  gem 
That  blazes  in  the  crown  of  power. 

For  oft  fond  friends,  when  doomed  to  part, 
Its  lowly  resting-place  have  sought. 

And  whispered,  with  a  sadden'd  heart, 
*  Look  on  it,  and  forget  me  not.' 

And  oft,  when  wandering  in  a  land 
That's  dearly  loved  by  thee  and  me, 

We  gathered  with  a  gentle  hand 
This  emblem  of  sweet  constancy. 

Accept,  though  small  its  value  be. 

This  token  of  my  love  sincere. 
And  glancing  on  it,  think  on  me. 

Forget  me  not !  thou  ever  dear  ! 

May  it  to  faithful  memory. 

Recalling  many  a  long-loved  spot  ; 

For  distant  Scotland  and  for  me. 

Breathe  softly,  sweet  '  Forget  me  not !' 

For  though  no  more  thou  viewest  the  flower, 
And  hail'st  its  blossoms  opening  fair. 

Yet  lovest  thou  to  recall  the  hour. 

When  we  have  marked  its  beauties  there  !' 


264  APPENDIX. 

No.  XXII. 

ADDRESS    TO    SCOTLAND. 

Written  when  occasionally  exposed  to  the  unpleasant  bantering  of  one 
whose  ne  plus  ultra  of  wisdom  seemed  comprised  in  having  skill  to 
conduct  ones-self  amid  London  crowds  and  London  sharpers,  exhibit- 
ing, in  short,  the  contraction  of  mind  briefly  expressed  by  the  word 
Cockneyism.  The  plan  she  adopted  to  indicate  that  the  style  of  ri- 
diculing her  country  was  unpleasant  to  her,  was  not  only  mild,  but 
skilful  in  one  so  young. 

TO    SCOTLAND. 

Thou  art  the  country  of  my  birth, 

And  wheresoe'er  I  rove, 
Thou  art  the  spot  of  all  the  earth 

I'll  never  cease  to  love. 

Thou  art  the  land  where  first  my  eyes 

Were  opened  to  the  day  ; 
Where  first  I  heard  the  lullabies 

That  soothed  my  pains  away. 

And  first  among  thy  grassy  dales 

My  infant  footsteps  strayed, 
And  first  in  thy  beloved  vales 

My  happy  childhood  played. 

And  first  beneath  thine  azure  sky 

I  learned  that  sacred  name 
Which  breathes  of  immortality 

And  feeds  love's  holy  flame. 

The  morning  and  the  evening  breeze 

That  o'er  thy  valleys  stray 
Played  round  me  when  I  bent  my  knees 

And  raised  my  heart  to  pray. 

Oh  !  there's  a  charm  in  those  sweet  scenes, 

Which  now  are  past  away. 
That  o'er  me  steals  like  early  dreams 

Of  life's  first  opemng  day. 

And  every  spot  of  that  sweet  land, 

Where  childhood's  years  were  passed, 

Is  bound  by  love's  most  tender  band, 
That  with  my  life  must  last. 


APPENDIX.  266 

Scotland  !  though  many  a  mile  may  lie 

Between  thy  shores  and  me, 
Ne'er  can  that  sweet  affection  die 

That  knits  my  heart  to  thee.  M.  L. 


No.  xxiir. 


Written  about  the  same  period. 

There  is  a  magic  in  the  name  of  home, 

A  charm  which  even  the  callous  bosom  knows, 

And  O,  when  from  its  precincts  far  we  roam, 

How  brightly  each  loved  scene  in  memory  glows  ! 

When  wandering  in  a  scene  of  strife  and  cares, 
Mid  those,  alas  !  we  may  not  deem  our  friends, 

How  fair  a  form  each  scene  of  childhood  bears — 
How  warmly  each  dear  distant  object  blends  ! 

The  Eolian  lyre,  touched  by  the  passing  gale, 
When  rapt  in  silence  deep  it  slumbering  lay. 

Wakes  all  its  strings,  to  burst  in  wildest  wail, 
Or  in  a  softened  murmur  melts  away. 

So  to  the  heart,  when  all  things  dark  appear. 
And  sad,  it  shuns  the  gay  and  giddy  throng  ; 

The  name  of  home,  but  whispered  in  the  ear, 
Can  tune  that  mournful  heart  to  hope  and  song. 

Ah,  then  !  the  sudden  gleam  of  happiness 
That  lights  the  eye,  erewhile  so  sad  and  dim  ; 

The  smile,  the  sigh,  we  vainly  would  suppress, 
Show  that  a  soul  of  feeling  dwells  within. 

Sweet  home  !  loved  dwelling-place  of  peace  and  rest, 
When  chill  the  blasts  of  scorn  around  us  blow, 

To  thee,  as  hies  the  turtle  to  her  nest. 

We  speed,  to  taste  thy  joys  of  peaceful  flow. 

Sweet  home  !  0  pitied  be  the  frozen  soul 

Which  flies  affection's  bland  and  melting  light, 

And  woos  the  gleams  that  flash  around  the  pole. 
Cold,  cheerless,  fleeting — offspring  of  the  night ! 

Which  shuns  the  sunshine  of  domestic  peace. 
Like  summer  morn,  all  lovely  and  serene. 

Whose  pleasures  but  with  lengthening  years  increase, 
While  friendship's  sweetest  smiles  illume  the  scene. 
23 


S©6  APPENDIX. 

Sweet  happy  home  !  0  can  I  e'er  forget 

Thy  charms — thy  flowery  bowers,  thine  azure  sky — 

And  those  dear  friends  who  in  thy  bounds  are  met ; 
Ah,  no  !  ah,  no  !  '  I'll  love  thee  till  I  die.' 

No.  XXIV. 

The  first  letter,  referred  to  in  the  Note  at  page  6,  is  addressed  to  her 
pastor  in  Edinburgh,  by  a  friend  who  often  ministered  to  his  people  at 
communion  seasons. 

'  Though  scarcely  acquainted  with  your  departed  friend,  yet  none 
could  see  her  without  feeling  very  deeply  interested.  The  first  time  my 
eyes  beheld  her,  was  as  I  came  down  your  pulpit  stairs  one  Sabbath 
evening.  She  was  in  your  pew  conversing  with  your  daughter.  The 
setting  sun  shed  a  hallowed  radiance  over  her  heaven-born  countenance. 
She  smiled,  a  very  angel  of  light  !  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  hastened 
to  inquire  who  she  was.  But  alas  !  these  eyes  will  behold  her  no  more 
on  earth.  Yet  she  has  not  lived  in  vain.  How  many  sources  of  com- 
fort are  there  when  we  look  back  and  dwell  on  her  hfe  ;  and  how  much 
also  to  soothe  in  her  death.  If  the  power  of  recognition  is  given  to 
beatified  spirits,  0  how  it  must  exhilarate  her  father's  adoration,  to 
know  that  the  voice  of  one  whom  he  taught  to  lis]^  in  grace,  now  swells 
the  song  of  the  heavenly  choir.' 

The  other  letter  quoted  is  from  her  friend  in  America,  the  Rev. 
Dr.  C. 

'  I  feel  as  if,  like  Job's  friends,  I  could  commence  my  introduction  to 
your  altered  state,  with  seven  days  and  seven  nights  of  mute  confusion, 
wondering  and  vaguely  discrediting  the  realities  I  know.  Were  I  to 
tell  you  all  that  I  have  said  and  thought  since  my  return,  of  that  dear 
one  now  in  glory,  it  would  appear  extravagant  and  fictitious.  But  I 
will  not  attempt  to  send  you  such  a  document.  Suffice  it,  that  I  loved 
your  dear  Mary,  and  love  her  yet,  as  one  of  the  rarest  specimens  of 
woman  !  Lovely  creature  !  I  often  said  that  I  bore  from  Europe  no 
impressions  of  loveliness  and  worth  more  complete  than  those  given  me 
by  Mary  Lundie.  And  now,  my  dear  Madam,  what  shall  I  say  to  you. 
Disciplined  as  you  have  been,  to  weep  for  yourself  and  others,  and  to 
find  consolation  in  God  equal  to  your  day,  I  would  prefer,  if  I  could,  to 
mourn  by  your  side,  and  listen  to  your  words,  and  let  you  comfort  me 
as  I  should  tell  you  how  bleeds  my  heart — what  a  pleasant  and  lovely 
friend,  and  endeared  correspondent,  has  left  me  alone  as  to  her,  in  the 
world,  and  what  sorrow  it  has  piled  on  me,  that  I  cannot  bear  !  ' 


A  P  P  E  N  D  I  X  <  267 

No.  XXV. 
Sketch  of  her  character  by  her  correspondent  in  London  : — 

'My  opinion  \s  merely  the  echo  of  that  expressed  by  a  circle  of  inti- 
mate friends,  who,  whenever  her  name  was  mentioned,  universally 
agreed  in  their  estimate.  All  speak  with  love  and  admiration  of  the  rare 
combination  of  excellencies  she  exhibited.  Her  piety,  natural  disposi- 
tions, intellectual  attainments,  accomplishments  and  personal  attrac- 
tions, would,  if  held  separately,  have  distinguished  their  possessors  in 
society,  but,  when  united  in  one  individual,  like  the  colours  in  the  hea- 
venly bow,  each  shed  a  lustre  on  the  other. 

'  To  begin  with  the  evanescent  qualities,  I  am  glad  a  portrait  was  not 
attempted.  It  would  have  been  too  much  to  hope  for  a  likeness.  It  is 
not  a  matter  of  surprise  that  it  should  be  difficult  to  transfer  to  canvas 
those  features,  chiselled  in  the  highest  style  of  Grecian  beauty,  and 
lighted  up,  as  they  usually  were,  with  an  expression  almost  seraphic — 
and  it  is  better  that  nothing  unjustly  purportmg  to  be  a  representation 
should  appear.  I  well  remember  when  at  school,  a  weight  having  ac- 
cidentally fallen  on  dear  Mary's  head,  she  was  obliged  to  recline  on  a 
sofa  ;  the  fright  had  sent  away  the  colour  from  her  cheeks,  and  she  lay 
with  her  eyes  closed.  We  were  all  seated  round  the  table  with  our 
drawing.  My  own  pencil  relaxed  for  a  few  minutes  to  gaze  on  that  ala- 
baster face,  as  I  thought  I  had  never  before  seen  anything  so  beautiful. 
On  glancing  round,  each  eye  was  found  attracted  to  the  same  spot,  and 
an  involuntary  murmur  of  admiration  escaped  every  lip.  This  little  in- 
cident has  often  been  referred  to  by  those  who  were  present,  and  I  con- 
fess it  is  among  my  most  vivid  recollections.  Perhaps  to  many  it  may 
appear  unworthy  of  being  mentioned,  as  beauty  is  such  a  secondary 
thing  in  reality.  Still,  to  deny  its  great  influence  betrays  little  know- 
ledge of  human  nature  ;  and  as  it  often  forms  a  strong  temptation  to  its 
possessor,  a  deliverance  from  the  snare  is  an  additional  proof  of  the  power 
of  divine  grace,  and  as  such  is  worthy  of  record.  We  have  the  authori- 
ty of  one  of  our  most  celebrated  clergymen  for  the  declaration,  that 
"  since  beauty  is  the  gift  of  God,  and  a  good  gift,  the  beautiful  woman 
is  as  accountable  to  Him  for  the  use  she  makes  of  her  beauty,  as  the 
man  of  intellect  is  for  the  talents  bestowed  on  him." 

*  The  term  holy,  which  can  seldom  be  used  in  reference  to  individuals 
dwelling  in  this  world  of  sin,  always  seemed  singularly  applicable  to  dear 
Mary.     She  was  one  of  the  very  few  in  whom  for  days  together  you, 


268  APPENDIX. 

might  endeavour  to  trace  her  actions  to  their  source,  and  find  they  ori- 
ginated in  right  motives — any  one  who  has  tried  such  an  experiment 
will  know  that  this  result  is  not  common.  The  godlike  disposition  to 
promote  the  happiness  of  every  sentient  being,  was  displayed  in  acts  of 
kindness  to  every  person  and  living  thing  within  her  reach.  Large  in- 
deed were  the  sympathies  of  that  unselfish  heart ! 

'  Refinement  of  mind  and  taste  was  perhaps  her  most  striking  charac- 
teristic. The  one  purely  natural,  as  it  must  ever  be,  the  other  partly 
owing  to  her  early  and  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  best  classic  au- 
thors in  her  own  language.  Her  companionable  qualities,  were  appre- 
ciated even  by  those  who  had  no  opportunity  of  judging  of  the  deeper 
parts  of  her  character.  She  had  a  most  happy  mode  of  imparting  infor- 
mation— that  suggestive  manner,  which  seems  to  give  the  superiority 
to  the  hearer.  Her  store  of  general  knowledge  was  very  large,  and  she 
was  at  great  pains  for  its  constant  increase.  Not  a  visit  was  paid,  a 
book  read,  or  the  prospect  of  a  lovely  landscape  enjoyed,  without  an  after 
investigation  as  to  the  amount  of  new  ideas  and  images  received.  Her 
enthusiastic  enjoyment  of  the  beauties  of  Nature  and  Poetry  might  have 
tempted  one  to  suppose  that  an  atmosphere  of  poetical  excitement  was 
that  which  she  constantly  breathed.  But  a  more  minute  acquaintance 
with  her  character  produced  the  conviction  that  she  had  a  just  apprecia- 
tion of  more  solid  pursuits  united  to  very  active  habits,  founded  on  a 
principle  of  duty. 

'  Her  industry  was  indefatigable.  During  my  visit  to  her,  after  her 
marriage,  when  her  delicate  health  seemed  to  call  upon  her  to  take  rest, 
from  six  in  the  morning  till  near  midnight  she  was  unceasingly  occupied. 
And  when  we  remember  that  her  natural  character  was  not  of  that  bus- 
tling energetic  kind  which  delights  in  action,  but  decidedly  of  a  medita- 
tive cast,  surely  we  must  acknowledge  and  admire  the  strength  of  that 
principle  which  obtained  so  complete  a  mastery  over  constitutional  ten- 
dencies. Many  who  are  conscious  of  possessing  far  greater  bodily  sta- 
mina, would  shrink  from  much  which  she  encountered  in  her  visits  to 
distant  cottages  in  stormy  weather — or  in  preparations  for  classes  when 
her  aching  head  much  needed  repose.  But  with  her,  at  all  times,  mind 
nobly  conquered  matter.' 


THE    END. 


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